Heart's Fire and Dragonblood
by TheExistentialist
Summary: Skyrim is ravaged by dragons, civil war and corruption. An ancient vampire cult seeks to wield an ancient treasure and make the province its dominion. When their efforts lead the reticent Dragonborn to an act he never thought he'd be capable of, he has little choice but to accept the aid of a vampiress despite his hatred, and confront the very thing he fears he could become.
1. Prologue

_We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark; the real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light. ~_ Plato

The snow shimmered beneath the final rays of the waning sun, the light yielding to the moon early in the evening for the autumn season. It bathed the whitewashed landscape in a warm golden glow that would fall to bitter darkness as soon as the light disappeared behind the forbidding peak of the mountain. Secreted away within the mountains of the Pale, the Hall of the Vigilants sat stoically in the shadow of the great peak.

It was the home of the vigilants of Stendarr – monks who dedicated their lives to the god Stendarr and paid homage by hunting the undead and those who practiced black magic. They wandered from province to province, condemning and hunting those who so dearly needed the grace of their supposedly merciful deity. Each member, whether through the influence of their elders, or their own character, eventually succumbed to the time-honoured tradition of destroying what they feared, what they didn't understand.

As the sun set, the light fled in away from the hall, shadows growing in its wake. The little girl standing at the wooden chopping block, axe hanging limply from her exhausted hands, shuddered from the sudden chill. Though the bear skin cloak dwarfed her small, fragile shoulders, it did little to ward off the cold. She raised the axe, letting the blade fall on the log with a sound that seemed thunderous to her ears, echoing of the icy faces of the mountains around her.

 _Bastard_ , that's what they called her. It hadn't been meant for her ears, but she'd heard it all the same. The tall, black haired man with the thick beard and small eyes had asked the question: Who's the kid? He was a hard man, not like the others, and definitely not like Vigilant Tolan.

Vigilant Tolan was her favourite. The stories he told her she could scarcely believe. Had he really seen a dragon? _Yes_ , he had said. Did you really see that man, the one who killed the dragon in Whiterun? _Yes, the Dragonborn. I've seen him._ You know, they say he has lovely blue eyes and he's really tall. Alesan said he's mean and fat, but I don't believe him. _He is rather tall, and he's definitely not fat._ Have you ever been in a battle, sir? _Of course_ , he had said vehemently, _I've fought_ _vampires, daedra worshippers, spirits_. It had taken him some work to convince her that he had. He was so soft, and a little bit flabby that she had trouble believing that he had ever picked up more than a dagger.

Quite unintentionally, she had overheard the man with the small eyes and Carcette, the leader of the vigilants, speaking in her room with the door ajar. Her conscience had urged her to move on and bring the basket of snowberries she carried to the bar, but her ears burned and her small feet remained glued to the floor. The heated sound of lowered voices had heightened her curiosity even further.

" _She is a nuisance. Get rid of her."_ A masculine voice had begun the argument.

" _She is a hard worker and earns her bed. She is only eight. I cannot turn her out._ "

A growl. _"Then send her to Riften, to the orphanage._ "

" _You know Grelod! The waif of a girl wouldn't last a week in her care. I'm not sending her away!_ "

" _You surprise me Carcette. When did you grow a heart?"_ She heard a dark chuckle. " _Especially for a little bastard child like that."_

" _Watch yourself, Borjund. You are only remaining here because I do not wish to see you return to the jailhouse so quickly."_

" _Still, I cannot see why you take so much upon yourself. Do you even know where the little cretin came from? She's probably the nameless offspring of some whorehouse-"_

 _"She is mine! She is my_ _child!"_ Carcette had hissed from behind the door. A defeated sigh punctured the silence that followed her words.

The girl's heart leapt into her mouth, and salty tears burned in her wide hazel eyes. Of course she was the Keeper's child. Why else would she be allowed to remain there? Her feet had suddenly unglued themselves from the floorboards and she had dropped the basket of snowberries as she bolted towards the basement, a safe dark haven where she could hide away unnoticed and unheard.

Now, outside in the chilling white snow, her hands were near frozen, the usually pink skin of her fingertips grey with the first signs of frostbite. She touched her fingers to her nose to see if any warmth was left in either of them, but gave a small whimper when neither appendage felt anything. Whether or not she'd finished the mountain of firewood Borjund had sent her to carve out, she was going back inside. She glanced up with a shiver to see the final ray of sunlight reflect back off the snow high above her. And then the sun was gone, and the snowy valley cloaked in a murky shadow.

"Minah!" The girl dropped the axe suddenly, whirling in surprise. Keeper Carcette stood at the door, her eyes glancing around uneasily.

"Inside, child! Quickly." Minah ran toward her, the simple beckoning gesture of Carcette's hand enough for her to flee the chopping block.

"It is not safe for you to be out here," Carcette murmured while ushering her inside. She knelt down to brush the snow off Minah's shoulders and head. "You're cold as the grave." She cupped Minah's hands between her own, rubbing vigorously to warm them. The child looked up at her with shocked eyes. _Was this…kindness?_ "There are some snowberries at the bar for you. Grab them and then sit yourself down by the fire."

"You little pest," a growl came from the back of the hall. "I told you to bring in the firewood."

"Borjund," Carcette cautioned harshly, getting to her feet as Minah ran for the counter. "Leave her. Since you want the firewood so much, you can bring it in."

His low grumble was met with a cold glare from the Keeper. "Fine," he grunted.

* * *

Borjund stumbled outside to the woodpile. He had to admit, Carcette's little cretin had worked hard to cut the large stack of firewood in only two hours. Shaking off the snow, he lifted one log into his burly arms, and bent to pick up another. He knew he was coming to the end of Carcette's patience, and he was in no way willing to go back to the Riften jail. He bent for another piece of firewood, but swore as the pieces he held fell from his arms and squarely onto his toe.

Perhaps the extra bottle of ale had affected him more than he thought. "Bloody alcohol," he muttered. He made to pick up the wood again, but stopped still, his heart quickening and hair standing on end as he heard a crunch of snow. His hand fell to his belt, and his throat immediately tightened. His axe. It was on the table by the door in the hall. Borjund cursed the ale again and listened. Nothing. He let out a breath. Carcette's paranoia about those creatures of the night seemed to be catching. With his mind and body dulled by drink, it was no surprise that he felt like he was being watched.

He glanced undecided at the woodpile. They had enough inside to last the night and an hour or two past dawn. There was no need for him to remain out here, risking his life and the circulation in his fingers. His body gave another shiver and that settled the decision. He turned around and took a step toward the hall as the woodcutter's axe came flying from the dark and buried itself between his eyes. Borjund fell back onto the woodpile, his face set in a silent scream.

* * *

Carcette heard the scream and dropped the jar as she bolted to a standing position, the clay shattering on the ground. "Bar the door," she said hurriedly to the vigilant behind the bar. He began to protest that Borjund was still outside, but she cut him short. "Do it."

The man ran toward the door as Carcette called for Tolan. The aging man stumbled from his room, eyes heavy with sleep. Other vigilants emerged from their rooms, only half-clothed.

"Tolan," she said hurriedly, dragging him by the arm, "take Minah into the basement, and keep her there until I come. You are not to open the trapdoor for anyone except me. Is that clear?"

The older man's eyes seemed hesitant. "Go," Carcette ordered, pushing him toward the child cowering at the bar. Collecting himself, he picked the child up swiftly and took her toward the basement trapdoor just as the creatures outside began throwing their bodies against the door. He hurried Minah into the basement and grabbed a sack of apples and snowberries from the bar and threw them in after her.

He glanced back. The vigilants piled furniture frantically against the door. A few had spells at the ready, with their weapons drawn. The door bowed with the weight of the creatures against it. The vigilants moved back from the door and two of them sent streams of ice onto it in an attempt to freeze the door to its frame and slow the creatures. The guttural hisses of the creatures pierced through the door and dread wound around Tolan's gut. He knew of only one kind of abomination that possessed voices such as that. With their strength, the door would barely hold another assault.

He swiftly descended the ladder and pulled the trapdoor down behind him, leaving only a sliver open so he could see. "Hide in the corner child," he whispered hurriedly to Minah. He heard the shuffle of her feet as she obeyed his instruction and he turned back to watch the door.

"We must cut them down as they try to enter through the door," Carcette whispered to the other vigilants fanning out around the door. "It will slow them down enough for us to fire at them."

"They're vampires, Carcette," one young vigilant whimpered, the iron axe shaking in his grasp, "they are far faster than us."

The Keeper growled, sparks of magic growing in her hands. "Then you'll be the first to-"

Shards of wood flew across the room as the door finally splintered and gave, the body of the first vampire becoming visible. Almost at the same time, a window near the ceiling shattered and three creatures dropped through, their glowing eyes menacing. Tolan slammed the trapdoor shut and shoved home the deadbolts. With a grunt, he heaved the sleeper into place across the door and stumbled back from the ladder.

He turned to see Minah huddled in the corner her face pressed into her dress and hands clasped over her ears. He could hear above them the thunderous sounds of powerful magic and the shattering of glass and furniture. A bang sounded as something fell on the trapdoor and he winced at the rattle of the metal lock.

A sob escaped the child and he crossed the floor and sat next to her, pulling her tight against him. "Hush, we will be okay," he said firmly. She grasped his arm tightly and looked pleadingly at him. "You will see," he whispered, more to convince himself than the child. The shouts of both vigilants and vampires carried down to their ears. An ear-splitting scream pierced the chaotic noise and he held the girl tighter, whispering an earnest prayer to Stendarr.

Which one of their people had just been bitten with those ice-cold fangs, he wondered? He ground his teeth. They were fools to not prepare. The shouts continued, growing softer as the animalistic growls of the vampires became louder.

It went on for what felt like an age to Tolan, but it truly could have been no more than ten minutes before it became eerily silent. He swallowed, his throat raw. Had they gone? Or were the vampires picking through the pockets of his dead comrades? Or worse, were they feeding? He felt his stomach roll and the urge to dry retch overwhelmed him. He pressed his fist against his mouth and swallowed it back.

The child by him stirred and looked up. Unsure of what else he could do, he attempted a smile that he was sure was more of a grimace and held his finger to his lips to signal silence. She turned her eyes back to the ground, not before Tolan noted her red-rimmed eyes and trembling hands.

Before long, they could hear a crackling above them and Tolan looked up toward the trapdoor in alarm. In the dim light of the lantern they had in the corner, he could see a silhouette of smoke pass through the cracks of the trapdoor. He glanced worriedly back at Minah. If the smoke continued to leak through, they would have to leave the basement or die of suffocation.

Tolan tore fabric from the end of his robe, cringing at the loud sound. With the child's confused eyes on him, he took a waterskin from the shelf and wet the fabric, then tied it around Minah's neck.

He tilted her head to look at him, his fingers beneath her chin. "There is smoke coming through the door child, pull this up to cover your mouth if it becomes too thick," he whispered, rubbing the makeshift mask around her neck.

Tearing off another piece of fabric, he did the same for himself.

Again, they waited and the smoke continued to seep down. It grew thicker and Tolan pulled the covers over his own mouth and Minah's. The acrid fumes stung his eyes and again he fought the urge to gag. The air tasted of burnt bodies. Minah could not hold herself and wretched into the corner. They could not stay here.

Whispering, he told her to close her eyes and keep the mask against her face. He rose and walked quietly to the ladder, climbed it and unlocked the door. He gave the trapdoor a shove. It would not budge. He bit back an angry growl and shoved again, this time a sliver of light passing through as it lifted marginally. He coughed into his shoulder and prayed again, as he heaved against the weight of the door. This time it came loose.

Slowly and quietly, he pushed it open the rest of the way. Immediately, his head was enveloped in a cloud of smoke, and he slipped back down the ladder. Minah came behind him and tugged on his robe, and he pulled her up with one arm and climbed the ladder. Once they exited, he kicked the trapdoor closed just as the stench assaulted them even stronger.

He pressed Minah's face into his shoulder and bid her to keep her eyes closed. His gut churned. All around them were bodies burning, and beneath the smouldering flames, he could see torn throats, slashed chests. He pulled his eyes away, swallowed thickly and set his wary gaze toward the door.

The flames licked at his feet as he stepped through debris quickly, the thatched straw roof of the hall still alight in some places and smoking remnants in others. Gingerly, he stepped through the doorway and out onto the snow, Minah sobbing into his neck.

He set her down on the snow and brushed the hair from her eyes. "Hush, hush child," he whispered. "It will be okay."

She raised her watery eyes to look at him fearfully.

"Wait here," he said gently. He rose stiffly to his feet, the aches reminding him of his age. He could not simply walk away from the hall. His brow lowered. He had to be sure that there was no one else alive in there. The snow crumpled beneath his feet as he went to the door to look inside again. Pulling the neck of his robe up over his mouth and nose, he looked inside, willing one of his friends to stand from behind a table somewhere. No one moved.

Tolan brought his arms up over his head as the central beam of the roof collapsed, bringing the rest of the roof and burning thatch down with an explosion of sparks. He waved them off as he backed away from the burning structure. If anyone had been alive in there, they certainly were not any longer. Tolan coughed and turned away from the flames, making his way back toward the girl, eyes streaming and blind from the smoke and embers.

"That's close enough vigilant," a voice purred. Horror poured through Tolan, his stomach dropping to his boots.

"Where's the child?" he rasped, silently praying for his eyes to clear.

"Go on dear," another voice simpered darkly. "Don't ignore the nice man. Tell him."

Minah cried weakly. "Help me."

"Oh no my dear, he will not help you. There are too many of us for an old man to fight." Yet another voice spoke those words, to his left.

One of the creatures hummed. "Mmm, what delicious skin you have child. I can see your blood pulsing in your neck." A shiver vibrated in its voice. "And soooo warm."

The other creatures hissed and laughed.

Tolan stepped forward furiously. "Don't touch her you bastard!"

"Oh? Why not?" the female hissed. "Are you going to stop me?"

Tolan's eyes cleared finally and he rubbed the rest of the grit away. There were four across from him, their eyes glowing scarlet. One had his arms holding the little girl to the stump of the tree. There were another two to his left. Only the path to his right was unguarded, and fleeing down it without the child would lead straight to hell.

Minah whimpered again.

"Shut it, girl," the female, obviously the leader, hissed. "It's been so long since I had a pleasant meal, I might not be able to wait if you keep squirming."

"Please," Tolan groaned. "Please leave her."

"Run away vigilant," another hissed, a deadly smirk on his lips. "We do not need your blood."

Tolan stood frozen, looking at the trembling child.

"Help me," she cried, fearful tears wetting her cheeks. "Don't let them hurt me, please!"

There was silence as all six creatures watched him in his indecision, before the leader let out a short laugh. "Leave him, he will not harm us. He is too afraid."

They bared their fangs and the vampire held the girl against the stump, baring her neck. The female descended on the child, her voice sickeningly sweet. "I promise you, this will sting." Her fangs hung suspended over the white skin and the sight of the child's rapid bounding pulse.

The others still watched him, eyes predatory and waiting. Almost like they were daring him to flee. He seemed deaf to the child's cries, his hand shaking as it hovered over his throat, envisioning his own end as if he were in the girl's place.

There was a slick piercing sound as the creature bit into her flesh. Tolan paled, his body tensing in horror as he saw the thin rivulet of crimson trailing down, the colour harsh against the child's porcelain skin. The creatures laughed, mocking his inaction, the sounds harsh against the child's cries.

Stumbling suddenly, Tolan fled from the horror, leaving the child behind him as he stumbled into the night. Straight down the road to hell.

* * *

The tack on the man's enormous horse rattled as he urged it faster, forming a steady musical rhythm with the thunder of hooves. He had seen the tower of smoke rising from the mountainside at the fork on the Whiterun road that split toward Dawnstar to the northwest and Windhelm to the east. He had pulled the cloak tight around him and squinted at the light that made the smoke seem blood red against the night sky. It had been far too large for even a giant's fire.

His heartbeat had quickened, his first thoughts those of dragons. He had looked back the way he came, then quickly spun his mount onto the road toward the pillar of light.

Now, he urged the beast faster and faster, a dark feeling brewing steadily as he drew closer, the outline of a large hall silhouetted in the flame. The path left the road and they plunged into the soft snow powder of the wooded mountainside. He let the horse have its way, weaving through trees with a speed incredibly agile for its size.

The beast slowed marginally as the incline steepened and it began to wade through deeper snow. The fur-cloaked man slipped from the saddle and pushed the rest of his way up through the drift that was becoming sloppy and wet. The roar of the fire grew as he came closer and was hit with a wall of burning heat. The whole structure had ignited, collapsing in on itself. It appeared the roof had long since fallen through, making tinder for the larger beams of hardwood that formed the floorboards and walls.

He brought his forearm across to shade his eyes and cursed. He hoped to the divines that the structure was abandoned. He looked around, circling the structure as close as he dared to see what was or had been within.

With a start, he recognised the plateau in the shadow of the mountain, the lone tree on the slope, the outlook on the forests and valleys of the Pale. He recalled the stable and looked to his right. Charred and burnt to cinders, but still there. The wood chopping block behind him, but this time bloodied.

He peered into the flames consuming what was left of the Hall of the Vigilants. The blaze couldn't possibly leave any survivors. It had burned too fierce and hot.

The man shed his cloak and draped it over the horse's saddle, the heat becoming too great. Cautiously, he walked to the side of the building, wary of falling debris. Perhaps he could find some evidence as to what started the blaze around the building.

The breeze picked up as he rounded the corner, carrying the scent of scorched flesh. He knew it, and had smelt it far too often. The dragons had decimated the village of Helgen and attacked several other settlements, and the bodies they left in their wake always smelt of this. Sickly sweet and putrid, with charcoal and sulphur hanging in the air.

The breeze brushed against him again, tousling his hair and chilling the sweat that had formed on his brow. There was another scent on the air and his horse nickered anxiously, just as he caught it and his hackles raised. Vampire. He drew the blade at his side, the sound metallic and fast, and slowly stepped back toward the burning building and whistled for his horse.

He could only make out the scent of one. He scanned the area warily, and took hold of the reins of his horse as the beast nudged him in the back. It shifted nervously on its hooves. The man patted its snout firmly and whispered soothingly. "I know. We should go."

He raised his foot to the stirrup, but stopped abruptly when he heard a loud whimper. Turning, he looked to the corner of the house where the sound had come from, the side that butted onto the face of the mountain. He dropped the reins and stepped toward the sound, to the protest of the horse which shook its head disapprovingly.

His blade was again at his side as he rounded the corner to see a whimpering child, her eyes shut tightly and tunic and skirt stained red. Lowering his sword a fraction, he stepped toward her. "Hello."

The child whimpered harder, the cry becoming a moan.

He drove his blade into the ground gently, and knelt near her. Scanning her body for the source of the dried blood, he called out to her again.

A hoarse whisper answered him. "He ran away."

He only barely caught the words. "Who ran away?"

She cried out again from a stronger bout of pain, her hands trembling.

"Who ran away young one?" He asked gently. He went to his belt to pull out healing tinctures.

"He was supposed to protect me," she whimpered. "Mama told him to protect me."

The man's face darkened. "Where does it hurt?"

"Ooooh. My tummy." She gripped her midsection tightly, as if squeezing it would give her relief.

"Here, let me help you," he said, his hands going towards the hem of her tunic. "I have potions."

She hissed and batted his hands away, her eyes narrowed.

He drew back startled, then attempted to convince her again. "Please, let me help you. Just lift up your tunic."

She grabbed his wrists hard, her hands like a vice and bitterly cold. He tensed, suddenly guarded as her face contorted. As her body was racked with another bout of pain, he saw them: twin bite marks on her neck. His eyes jumped back to her face and saw the crimson irises swell, her pupils only small points of black.

He swore as she lunged for him, her hands leaving his wrists and scratching desperately for purchase on his shoulders. A feral hiss escaped her as he held her back, her skin slick with blood. She came forward again, long pointed teeth snatching at his skin. He could feel her strength growing as he struggled against her. One of her hands slipped from his grasp and claws dug into the taught thick muscle of his shoulder, making him growl in pain.

His eyes darted around them, looking for something, anything he could use to knock her out. The only thing was his sword, a few metres from them, standing upright in the earth. Too far.

She flailed wildly at him, claws trying to dig in further and he held her back with all the strength he could muster. Not even a man with werewolf blood, let alone a normal man could compare to the power and blind rage of a newly turned and feral vampire.

Its other hand caught into his other shoulder, and she pulled closer, slamming his head against the ground when he resisted. He growled back at her, and tipped their weight, rolling her over onto her back. His hands went to its neck as its claws dug deeper into his shoulders. It edged closer, his arms lacking the strength to hold it back in its desperate lust for blood. He could not cure the child if he was dead.

He kneed it viciously in the gut, and its advance slackened. A savage and sudden twist of his hands broke its neck, and the body of the girl crumpled against him.

He shoved it off him and rolled away, chest heaving. Adrenaline and anger coursed through him, and he pressed his forehead to the ground. The girl's body lay four feet from him, limbs splayed and neck bent at an unnatural angle. He thanked the divines that her face was turned away from him.

He brushed hot angry moisture from his eyes, coming to his knees. The heated rush of adrenaline vanished when he looked at her body, now peaceful and tiny. He clenched his hands, filthy with blood, dirt and ashes.

His face darkened in fury. He would kill them. He would make them regret ever setting eyes on the hall of the Vigilants. It was time they stopped preying on his people and paid with death for what they had stolen.

He rose slowly, the blood from the child still coating his hands. _Let it stay for a while,_ his thoughts grated. _Let it remind you of what they are._ He pulled his sword from the ground and sheathed it forcefully. The crackle and roar of the flames ignited his anger. He pulled the cloak from the saddle of his skittish mount and refastened it around him, yanking the hood firmly over his face to shroud it against the moonlight. He swept into the saddle and the mount danced anxiously on its hooves beneath him, begging to be urged into a gallop. With the leaping flames mirrored in his eyes, he obeyed and dug his heels into the horse's flank, stealing away into the night.


	2. Chapter 1

Sun's Dusk was a beautiful month, when the leaves fell and the veil of summer parted, making way for winter's white cloak. When the sun began to set early on the trees and mountains, the bears would hide away in their caves, and the squirrels would hoard their precious acorns in a small tree hollow somewhere before the bitter winter chill set in for three long months. The evenings would stretch into a long eventide that was made to be savoured with a bottle of mead and a crackling campfire as one watched the constellations emerge in a sky tinged pink by the sunset.

At least, that was fall in the forests of the Rift as he saw it now, side by side with his brother and sister wolves. Spent alone, fall was just as cold and unforgiving as winter. But not now, as the heat of the shared hunt flowed between them. Claws dug into dirt, pawing at the ground as the ravenous hunger clawed at them. Eldairn could not withstand his desire for the glories of Hircine's hunt for much longer. It was a burning palpable with each strong beat of his heart.

For two days now they had patiently stalked after their prey, dragging out the hunt. Before them was their quarry, the majestic White Stag, the envied prize of every hunter, wolf or man. A deep rolling growl sounded from his left as Farkas came up beside him. Aela's scent was ahead of them, perhaps fifty yards and to the left, flanking the stag. It was only by some miracle that the animal had not heard Farkas' eager growl. They needed silence now. A single misplaced paw on a stray dry branch would spook it, and they would be in pursuit again.

Through lupine eyes, he saw the moonlit glint of Aela's luminous silver irises in the night ahead of them. He counted five seconds and then she moved. The light touch of paws on the ground treading towards her prey in the sensual swagger of the Huntress. Her stalk was silent, her presence undetectable and a blessing Hircine had bestowed on their hunt.

He moved forward, Farkas at his flank on the right. A sudden rustle of leaves in the breeze caught the stag's attention, its head erect and ears twitching warily. For the first time that evening, he rued the cool fall breeze. Heartbeats slowed and seconds stretched before them as the creature glanced around warily. A twig snapped to his right.

Aela pounced, claws extending into the rear of the beast as she pulled it to the ground as it writhed and whined against her. The magnificent creature was no match for a grown werewolf. In less than a heartbeat, he and Farkas joined her at the fallen prey, muzzles deep in raw flesh. The relief was palpable as they feasted on their first meal in nearly three days of hunting.

They were restless, still aware of the Silver Hand warriors who had been tracking them a few days earlier before the scent had disappeared. Foolishly, they had believed that they had annihilated the remaining strongholds in a fit of anger not long after Kodlak Whitemane, their previous leader had been killed. The elite band of warriors known as the Companions had existed for over four thousand years, since the first Atmorans had come to Skyrim, but war and the passing of time had dwindled their numbers from 500 to barely thirty. The entire country held the roughhewn warriors in high esteem, and so the werewolf curse upon them was a coveted secret.

True to their cowardly nature, it seemed that a few of the Silver Hand had fled the forts in terror before they were overrun by the Companions, returning on the heels of the secretive werewolves as soon as their numbers were evened.

It was the exact reason why the party of Companions had been separated; Farkas, Aela and he drew the hunters and their silver weapons away from Vilkas, and their newly blooded recruit, Ria. As the twin and the imperial had fled, he had caught a glimpse of a silver bolt grazing across the back of Vilkas' hind leg. He hoped to the Gods that the wound was superficial enough that the feverish effects of silver would not take hold. If not, Ria's first hunt would be a baptism of fire.

The flesh of the deer tore and disappeared quickly in the maws of the three werewolves, leaving only a carcass of skin and bone. Their haste was obvious in the messy butchering of their prey, the pelt of the animal far beyond salvageable and easily identifiable as the meal of beasts. He growled in frustration and clamped his powerful jaws over the neck of the beast, dragging it from the small clearing to settle it beneath a bush and away from the eyes of the pursuing silver hand. Even though the gang of self-righteous madmen were at least a day from them, he wanted to leave no hint of their presence. Aela followed behind him, her tail sweeping at the leafy ground shifting the bloody leaves and gouged dirt to an unrecognisable pattern.

He loped behind Aela and Farkas, following them by the light of the blood-red moon to a small cave that was always kept clear for this very purpose. As they passed tree after tree, keeping low in the shadows, he felt the hunger of the beast begin to recede and the clarity of his mind sharpening. He knew the cycle. For now, the longing for the hunt would abate, giving him some peace for a few days, or weeks if he was fortunate. Then it would build again, the wolf within him growing restless until it was a physical pain he could no longer bear. Abstaining from the hunt was impossible for him, and he could little understand how Vilkas was able to do it.

Now, as their leader, their Harbinger, he knew their numbers were dwindling. While he could not bring himself to be free of the beast blood, he knew Vilkas yearned for it. Aela and Farkas still revelled in their gift, but that could change. The loss of Skjor and Kodlak had been an almost impossible weight to bear, and had not only robbed them of the guidance they had in Kodlak, but their head trainer in Skjor. The recruits that came to them now to try and refill the ranks were hopeless. They came for the romance of adventure and failed utterly in their very first trials. He growled at the thought. It would take over a year for any of them to be remotely combat ready. Even then, he was sceptical that the unrest and bickering they produced in Jorrvaskr was worth the gain. If they did not learn respect very soon, he would turn them out on their ears.

Their claws clicked against the stone floor of the small cave as they entered, wind whistling through the opening just barely large enough for them. With a shudder, the beast relented and his bones and muscle shifted as he returned painfully to his human form. Farkas' pained grunt came from behind him and he heard the dull thump as the heavy rucksack fell from the man's chest. Within it was their gear and armour, and strapped to the outside were their weapons. Returning to human form left them naked as a babe.

The shield-siblings were quiet with weariness as they slipped into their clothes in the relative safety of the cave. Though none of them said it, it was easy to guess by the grim faces where their thoughts all turned. Had they done enough to outrun the Silver Hand, and had Vilkas and Ria made it safely back to the city of Whiterun? If they had not, the wild goose chase the three had led the hunters on would have been a monumental waste of time. Time that could have been used formulating a plan to rid Skyrim of the last of the Silver Hand.

He turned his gaze toward the others. Frustration radiated off Aela. He knew that she had been in favour of an all-out slaughter of them. Yet he had disagreed, not anticipating how deep their hatred ran. Aela and he had already massacred them once, then he and Vilkas had gone after them. It had seemed unlikely that they would come again, so he had decided against more bloodshed. He turned toward his companions as he buckled on the belt that held his two blades.

"I'll get some firewood," Farkas grunted, leaving the cave.

Aela's eyes lingered on the dark-haired man before turning to Eldairn, her eyes still burning with energy. "Is a fire wise?"

He looked toward where Farkas had stood a moment before. "By my reckoning, the silver hand are at least a day behind us. I feel it is safe," he said lowly, his brow raising as if to ask her opinion.

She huffed, unsatisfied. "Perhaps I am simply paranoid."

Eldairn cocked his brow. "Paranoid or wary? The Silver Hand have been hunting us without our knowledge for at least a month." He walked toward the rear of their shelter, seeking the caches of food and blankets they had stored there previously. "To not be wary would be foolish."

"Perhaps we should have wiped them out while we had them on the run," Aela growled frustrated. "Then this could have been avoided."

He felt her disapproval as she came to help him pull out the bedrolls and arrange them on the ground. "Perhaps," he grunted.

"Perhaps?" she replied, a hint of steel in her voice. "Eldairn, we do not know if Vilkas and Ria are even alive. We could have sent the pup to her death on her first hunt."

He ran a hand over his face, feeling the truth of her words. "I know Aela. But Vilkas is an expert warrior, and Ria is more than capable. I have confidence in them." He tried to infuse more certainty in his words than he felt.

She positioned the blankets with a frustrated shove and stood, turning towards the cave entrance, and the sliver of night sky that could be seen through it. "This cannot continue Eldairn. We must either negotiate a peace or wipe them out!"

He settled himself on a rock near the cave entrance, pushing down the heat that swelled in his chest at her accusation. Though her loyalty to him was indisputable, her tone made him doubt. He frowned. "We need to find where they are coming from first, and their numbers. Our ranks may not be great enough to deal with them."

"I can do that. But we must deal with it." Aela turned to him, her expression determined. "I will not let them take any more of my family."

"Nor will I," he said angrily. "But sending them on a hunt for the silver hand would guarantee their deaths! You yourself know that so many of them are barely strong enough to hold a sword high, let alone wield it!" He breathed heavily, before his glare settled to a simmering gaze out on the distant hills. So often he had considered what action Kodlak would have taken, yet he knew Aela would likely disagree regardless. She and the old man had rarely seen eye to eye. Still, he yearned for the wisdom his predecessor seemed cloaked in.

He turned his eyes to the woman, her ire now a gentle simmer marking her gaze. Her fiery auburn hair stirred in the evening breeze, like flickers of flame. _Matches her passion…_ he thought wryly.

He of all people understood her anger. "If I were to send them out, I would bury even more companions in this twelve-month. That is not the legacy I want from my leadership, Aela," he shared quietly. "Kodlak entrusted me with their care."

A silence settled over both warriors, Aela watching him thoughtfully before she spoke. "It has been nearly a year without him. And you have led us well in that time."

He laughed mirthlessly. "Only by the grace of the Gods. I know Kodlak said Vilkas was too hot-headed, Farkas was too relaxed -"

"And I was too independent," she finished wistfully.

He nodded. "But I am…" he paused, choosing his words, "too vengeful. That is why I chose against hunting them down. If I started that path, then…"

Aela was quiet. "You are not alone in this Eldairn. It is why we run in a pack. And despite what you may think, you are wise in your own right."

"Thank you shield-sister." He said with a smile. Her auburn hair looked almost black as it swirled in the breeze, the bloodmoon beating down on her diagonal warpaint to give a fearsome picture, like a goddess of the hunt. She truly had a temper to go with it, he laughed to himself. It likely kept her warm while that scant armour she wore did nothing to insulate her.

"We can do nothing though until we return to Jorrvaskr," he said quietly. "You and Farkas will have to head back ahead of me."

Aela turned her gaze upon him. "And why is that?" she asked dubiously.

"I have business in Riften." He rose from the stone, arms folding across his expansive chest. "I shall follow you as soon as I have finished. It should take no more than a day."

"Dare I ask what it involves?" The tinge of suspicion in her voice was easily read.

"Aela, I am not up to something," he muttered amused. In some respects, she was very like a mother wolf. "I need to speak with a few people there. They have asked for help regarding vampire attacks." His voice dropped lower with his answer.

She growled. "Leeches. I assumed you would want to act on that soon." Eldairn had entrusted to her his account of the events of a fortnight ago. She had essentially demanded that he tell her what was going on after he had come dangerously close to hurting one of the trainees in a duel. He had walked around for days in a cloud of anger that clung to him like a foul stench. The burden had lightened when he had shared it with her, but the anger lingered.

"I am seeking information as well, and I know where I can get it." His tone was almost menacing, and Aela, not for the first time, thanked Hircine that he was her comrade and not her enemy.

"Take your rest then," she urged. "You will wish to leave soon."

Though he looked like he would find little rest, he nodded his thanks. "I shall follow you both in a day or so."

They grasped forearms before he disappeared toward the back of the cave, and Aela's eyes turned back toward the sky as she waited for Farkas to return. "Sleep peacefully Harbinger."


	3. Chapter 2

_**Hi Everyone! :)** So this is my first real foray into fanfiction and I have been away from writing for ages, so I would love to hear your opinions and constructive criticism! I've loved Skyrim ever since I first played it and am planning to really flesh out some of the awesome storylines that can be woven together from it, particularly around the Dawnguard questline! I'm going to try to make it as original as I can so it will deviate from the actual storyline (not going to lie, the overnight Serana/Dragonborn romances don't feel all that satisfying to me) and be a bit slow-burn to start off with. So be ye warned! **Enjoy, TheExistentialist ;)**_

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The market was bustling, perhaps two hundred or so bodies rubbing shoulders with each other in the centre of Riften. Each shopkeeper called out their wares from the small stalls that lined the courtyard, each competing with the other. There seemed to be far more people there than usual, flocking to buy supplies and food. It was a prime environment for any competent pickpocket with a lack of morals. With each bump of arms or jolt of shoulders, nimble fingers slipped into the exposed pockets completely unnoticed.

The city guards had given him a perfunctory nod of acknowledgement as he had passed through the main gate. After three years of business in the city, they were well used to him slipping in and out, having long ceased questioning his presence there. His boots padded solidly on the ground, a small splash rising with each footfall. What little snowfall had fallen in the few days since the start of the month had melted and turned the ground to a muddy mess, with person after person tracking through the wet. A stray rat darted across the pathway as he made his way through the market.

Naturally, prices were rising as the cold began to settle in for the winter months and all the citizens began the frenzied haggling for the last of the produce for the season. He thanked the gods that Old Tilma had the foresight to store up during the time of plenty. The hall of the companions would not have need of anything this winter.

As he shouldered his way through the masses standing almost a head above many of them, he peered across many heads in search of his associate. The only person likely to know the movements of vampires across the province would come from the Thieves Guild. In the days since he had become risen to their circle of leaders, they had become far more than simply thieves. Every rumour that passed the lips of the citizens funnelled straight into the guild's network of information. The turbulent state of war-stricken Skyrim often made information more profitable than simple goods.

A shock of bright red hair gleamed in the early morning sunlight, breaking through the greys, greens and browns of the city folk. The man appeared within the crowd, standing at the small stall from which he conned the witless and pliable. His embellished hawking barely paused when the broad-shouldered clansman caught sight of Eldairn. Brynjolf, Eldairn's second in charge, was as professional as ever. Smoothly, he presented a purplish vial to an elderly woman, gesticulating at it and talking emphatically. Barely a few seconds passed before she had handed over a small bundle of gold and the man pressed the concoction into her hand with a warm smile.

Eldairn strode over, a disapproving frown masking his face. "How do you lie through your teeth so easily, Brynjolf?"

The redhead broke into a lopsided grin, his thick brogue flavouring his words. "You know me, lad. I'm only ever honest."

The companion's sourness disappeared, and a smirk curved his mouth. Though disliked Brynjolf's practice of conning the elderly, the woman's wealth was obvious. A few coins would not be missed. "Still seducing young women and robbing their grandmothers blind?" he rumbled, folding his arms.

"Seducing? No," Brynjolf laughed conspiratorially. "The women come willingly, lad. You should pay close attention. You might learn something."

With an exasperated smirk, Eldairn rolled his eyes. "And forfeit my freedom? No thank you." He had long ago been informed by the women of both the guild and the Companions that he gave a horrible first impression. Apparently amongst those he did not know, his face was often stern enough to give many women pause. In truth, he did not mind at all. If they scared so easily at a stony face, they would far from suit each other.

Brynjolf's leaned back against his stall, brow raised. "My apologies. For a moment there, I forgot your aversion to society."

Eldairn rolled his eyes. "Not averse. Just independent."

"You've no need to explain yourself to me, lad," Brynjolf said, clapping a hand on his shoulder and wagging his conspicuously ring-less ring finger. "I understand completely. Now, to what do I owe this visit?"

Eldairn scanned the crowd around him. "We should speak somewhere a little quieter."

At Brynjolf's beckoning, Eldairn followed him through the market and across the walkways to the garden behind the large temple of Mara that overlooked the city. If it could even be considered a garden. It was so little frequented by the people that the flowers had withered and died, and the headstones were decrepit and worn, almost illegible.

The clansman turned to face him. "Now, what did you seek me out for?"

"Information," Eldairn said. "I need to know anything you have heard about vampire clans or lairs in the province, particularly around the Pale."

"Ah," Brynjolf breathed. "You'll be wanting the Dawnguard then. They would be the best to ask." He paused, ignoring Eldairn's raised brow in favour of his own curious gaze. "Vampire hunters tucked away in the southeast of the mountains. They get the whereabouts of clans and any attacks reported to them."

"Perhaps I should pay them a visit," Eldairn said quietly. "Do you have any information of your own?"

"Every hold seems to be under attack. Groups of the creatures are entering cities and villages during the evening and attack anyone nearby," Brynjolf said wearily. "They came to Riften too. Sapphire and Rune were both injured in the last attack."

Eldairn's brow furrowed, yet Brynjolf's lack of concern seemed to show they were both recovering. "The vampires were killed?" he asked expectantly.

"Between the two of them and about fifteen of the city guard, yes they were." Brynjolf shook his head angrily. "I cannot see the vampires' purpose if they are simply going to be killed each time. They are always outnumbered."

"Terror," Eldairn growled. "Before these attacks, barely any townspeople even knew they existed." He shook his head, pacing. "Just the sight of them is enough to fill people with fear."

"Perhaps they grow tired of living in the shadows," Brynjolf suggested. "That would explain these brazen attacks on the cities."

"Whatever their purpose, I aim to find out." Eldairn clenched his fists as the anger rose in his chest.

Brynjolf watched the tall, broad man's restless pacing. So often he seemed to make the cares of the people his own. He had outgrown the guild; now his concerns dealt with all of Skyrim. It had begun the day the dragons attacked Whiterun, and Eldairn for somewhat mercurial reasons had been in the Jarl's service. If the accounts were to be believed, the dragon had died by the man's blade and then burst into golden ethereal flame that had spiralled into Eldairn's chest. The dragon's soul, they all said. He stole the dragon's soul. And then spoke in dragon tongue, a single word coming from his mouth as a wall of energy that knocked the guards off their feet.

Bryn could see it in the untamed mess of his short blond beard, the aged look in his blue eyes that appeared as though they had lived a hundred years, and not his young twenty-seven. His body though, was in its prime and emanated an otherworldly energy that seemed to never wane, however weighed down by duty.

"I'm sure the Dawnguard is perfectly capable of dealing with them, Eldairn."

The man shook his head, jaw set and determined. "No. I need to make certain of it myself." The haunted look in his eyes set Brynjolf on edge. "Either way," he continued, "I need the location of any lairs near to the Hall of the Vigilants."

"So you saw it?" Brynjolf guessed. That would explain his motivation.

"I saw the smoke while I was riding toward Windhelm." He ran his hand through his hair and looked toward the Shrine of Talos with the small dusting of snow atop the helmet and shoulders. "I thought it was from dragon fire."

Brynjolf whistled. "And you wish to repay them?"

A grim smile settled on Eldairn's lips. "You could say that." He took a seat on the mossy stone fence at the entrance to the graveyard. "Any news on the guild front?"

The thief's face clouded, and he reluctantly passed on the most important pieces. "We've been keeping tabs on Maven. She's become rather elusive."

Eldairn's brow raised doubtfully. The Thieves Guild's most important patron, who single-handedly held its finances together when their luck had deserted them, usually enjoyed wielding her power in the faces of others. A witch of a woman, she essentially had Riften in her pocket, the guards paid off, and the Jarl pandering to her every whim. For her to be elusive was unheard of.

Brynjolf's brogue deepened to a low growl. "We believe she's been meeting secretly with someone." He thumbed the ring on his finger in thought. "With the guild going so strongly, perhaps she feels we will cut her out and is acting accordingly."

"Perhaps I will pay her a visit as well." Eldairn glanced around, hoping to dim the feeling that the she-devil herself would appear behind them. He found it difficult to believe that she would act that way because of the guild. "Anything else?"

"Some of our shipments from the north have been disrupted. We've had no word from a few of the Khajiit caravans that were carrying goods for us for the past month or so."

"Any idea what the hold-up is?"

Brynjolf shook his head. "I was hoping you could tell me, since you've been on the roads so often."

Eldairn rubbed his hands together, feeling the chill falling in the air as the sun dipped lower in the sky. In its fading light, Riften almost looked clean and hospitable. He had heard of a rise in vampire attacks up north on the road from Morthal through to Solitude, but couldn't believe that their numbers had increased so soon after he'd annihilated the Morthal coven. He stopped his hands in their movement as he thought. "There have been rumours of vampires, but I don't think that's likely. It wouldn't be Maven's doing would it?"

"I should hope not. She still controls a significant portion of our income." Brynjolf's eyes darted to the entrance to the garden and the thief straightened, stepping away from the fence. "I'll speak to you later this evening, in the ragged flagon," he breathed under his breath, before leaving the garden and heading back in the direction of the market.

Turning to go, Eldairn saw the reason for Brynjolf's sudden departure. Maul, a great giant of a man and Maven Blackbriar's personal thug, leant against the tree a few metres to his left. The crooked frown, and the accompanying crooked nose had been left by Eldairn himself when a brawl had broken out when he first came to Riften. The brute had obviously caught onto their lingering conversation, eavesdropping likely at Maven's own request. Eldairn pushed himself from the wall and strode to the exit, casting a satisfied smirk toward the brute as he passed. If the delayed shipments were indeed a result of Maven's contacts, then there would be trouble, for them both.

The most likely explanation for the disappearing shipments was simply overeager bandits and under-skilled caravan guards. If they were foolish enough to pick a path through the marshes of Hjaalmarch, then he didn't want to imagine what had become of them. He knew himself that that region was the domain of vampires, necromancers and all manner of creatures.

Eldairn strolled directly towards Balimund and his forge, placing the order for the glass arrows Aela had requested. He settled himself against the wall, watching the talented smith heat the rare material in the glow of the forge. Whether he himself was working the flames or simply watching them be tended, he always felt an odd contentment around the forge. As he watched the smith work, the scent of moisture carried on the air, and a cool breeze stirred the leaves strewn across the tanned paving. He cast his eyes upward. The sky was steadily darkening as heavy rolling thunderclouds moved in, threatening to unleash a deluge.

"Better head to the inn, Eldairn," the smith called, with a weary tip of his head. "Don't want to get caught in this. I'll have these to you tomorrow midday. No need to wait around."

Seeing the sense in the words with a glance toward the sky, Eldairn nodded. "Thank you, Balimund. Enjoy your evening."

As predicted, heavy drops began to fall, mixing with the cold, muddy ground. Pulling the hood of his cloak over his head, Eldairn scanned the marketplace. The remaining people were chased away like ants by the wet and cold, some heading the many directions to their own homes, but many filing into the city's major tavern, the Bee and Barb. The aging sign swung in the rising wind, the iron fittings creaking noisily even above the rumbling footsteps of patrons. Glowing windows beckoned to him and his mind turned toward mead. He groaned in annoyance. The number of people within would make it almost unbearable. The warmth would be stifling and the crowds rowdy and jostling. He was simply not in the mood to be jostled by drunkards or have some renegade thief try to cut his coin pouch from his belt.

Resigned, he turned from the inn and began to head toward the walkways that would lead him to the Ragged Flagon, the tavern that was home to the thieves guild in the tunnels beneath the city. The smell would be foul, but it would have to do. Brynjolf was expecting him anyway, and perhaps Vekel would have some more of that cyrodilic brandy again.

He breathed deeply, anticipating the taste of the fine drink, when he was hit with another scent. His muscles tensed, his body alert and ready. The reaction was instinctive. Vampire.

His eyes darted in its direction, a hooded figure working its way through the thinning crowd toward the Bee and Barb Inn. There was a flash of red and black beneath the dark grey cloak, leather boots clicking against the ground. The figure glanced back before slipping through the front door. Eldairn moved quickly, wary of losing it to the pressing crowd within the inn. A few quick steps took him to the door and he entered, brushing his hood down.

Immediately, he glanced around the room, his eyes yielding no sign of the illusive stranger. The scent still hung in the air, teasing, and Eldairn could feel the pacing of the beast within him in uproar at this encroachment upon his territory. Mead was being passed around, every chair was full, and more had been pulled from the store cupboard for the evening. It seemed as if the entire town had converged this one night. Purposefully and quickly, he wove his way through the denizens and the elite toward the bar. Alcohol, like adversity, made all men equal.

"Keerava," Eldairn called, from the edge of the bar.

Setting yet another ale-filled tankard before the throng pressing at the bar, she continued her work, oblivious to him. "Keerava!" he shouted again. She caught sight of him and pushed past her assistant balancing bread and cooked meats on a plate to get to him.

Eldairn slipped behind the counter. "Keerava, did you see someone in a grey cloak and hood come in here?"

She nodded, wiping the bar clean of spilled sticky mead as she spoke. "Went straight up the stairs and didn't stop for a drink. I think he's here for Maven." Her lip curled in distaste as she uttered the woman's name. "If you see him, would you mind telling him that upstairs is _private_. The lout didn't even speak with me before charging up there!"

"I'll go one better and beat him with the broom for you," he said, thanking her. He pushed past the drinking townsfolk and stepped quietly up the stairs. As he reached the top, he paused, listening as he leant against the wall. If the creature was here for Maven, they would be sitting on the other side of the wall he pressed against, discussing business in a secluded alcove. He had been in the same position several times too many himself. Pressing his ear closer to the wall, he listened, a difficult task given the raucous laughter and ranting that came from the floor below.

Not a sound. He pulled back from the wall, pulling loose his dagger from his boot. Had he missed it? It was not possible, unless they had simply exchanged a note. He had been in the inn for barely two minutes. Grateful that the noise masked his footsteps against the floorboards, he inched toward the doorway, sure that the vampire must still be on the second floor.

"Lady Blackbriar." There it was – a silky, somewhat high male voice that made Eldairn's lip curl.

"Thank you for meeting me." The contemptuous voice of Maven Blackbriar carried from the room. It was a small comfort that she used the same tone with whomever she spoke to.

"Time is precious, and I do not have much of it. I gathered from your communication that you wish to discuss an alliance?" A chair squeaked as it strained under the weight of a body. Liquid sloshed as it was poured into a glass.

"More of a business partnership."

A pause, then the clink of glass on metal. "No thank you. I don't drink."

"I heard from a colleague of mine that you had an investment into the skooma trade. Redwater den, I believe the name was." Maven's smug voice grated on his ears.

"That was supposed to be private knowledge. Who is this colleague of yours?" There was an impatient tapping on the wood of the table.

"I'm not at liberty to say. Loose lips and all that you know. Perhaps I could make an exception if we were to come to an agreement."

A chair squeaked again, and he heard the vampire's carefully neutral voice. "What did you have in mind?"

"In return for my safety, and the stability of my trade arrangements, I will give you unlimited access to the blood within our prisons. There is an almost endless supply between that and what we have in the ratway."

A dark laugh came. "Lady Blackbriar, we take what we want, when we want it. We have no need for vagrant blood."

A long pause ensued. Maven's voice came, a little less confident. "Have your people been raiding our caravans?"

"One caravan has no distinction from another to us. We may have."

"I need those supply routes open and safe to travel. They bring intelligence as well as the obvious goods. That route is of great importance to the maintenance of this war." Maven paused. "I know you are taking full advantage of the conflict. Should the supply be cut off, you will no longer have that advantage."

The voice responded quickly, full of disdain. "And what can you offer in return for us honouring your demands?"

"I can diversify your skooma trade, take it further than just the den. As my previous investment was destroyed I can offer its neglected customers. I can offer intelligence regarding Skyrim's defences, and influence among the nobility. With me, you will have a finger in the ruler's circle. I have powerful ties to the empire that could be of use to you, where you wish to continue unopposed in your…activities." Her speech seemed rehearsed.

Another pause came as the vampire considered her words. "We want something more…tangible. Greater proof of your loyalty. I know that you have control of Riften." All stilled in the room, both Maven and Eldairn hanging on the vampire's words. "We want to roam the hold, unopposed. There is an irritation that has taken root in the southeastern mountains that we wish to take care of."

Eldairn settled the instinctive anger that came at the vampire's outrageous demand. Surely, Maven would not yield control of the Rift to vampires. The woman spoke quickly. "I do not think you understand the gravity of what you are asking. You must know that the hold's productivity is determined by its people, those that you likely wish to kill."

"I understand completely Lady Blackbriar. Which is why I am asking it of you. You turning a blind eye will give us evidence of your allegiance. Should you refuse, there will be no promise of safety or mercy if you find yourself in an unfortunate position." The nonchalant venom that laced his final words chilled the room.

"I cannot promise that unless I am aware of your targets." Her voice had the faintest twinge of horror. "Should you wish to attack Riften itself, the people will defend themselves."

"We are not concerned with that. We only wish free passage and the right not to be hunted. As much as it is in your capacity to do so."

"So you plan not to harm the people?" Her usually imperious voice held the faintest tinge of hope.

"I am not privy to long term plans. I am only an emissary. Should we wish to advance this partnership beyond what it now is, you will be contacted. Do we have an agreement?"

A long pause and the splash of wine again sounded. "As long as the people of the city remain unharmed, you have my allegiance. That is my condition, along with the other terms we have discussed." Had she not just near signed away ownership of the hold to a vampire, Eldairn would have applauded the firm tone she held as she bargained for the people. Still, making such a condition reeked of either a fool's hope or pure, unadulterated naivety.

"Then it is sealed. Thank you for your time, Lady Blackbriar. We shall contact you in the very near future regarding our partnership." A chair scraped against the floor, and the click of leather boots was heard.

"I shall be expecting you," the woman replied warily.

As light footsteps came towards the stairway, Eldairn dove behind the barrels that lined the side of the wall, pressing himself low to the ground on his belly. With no armour, and only a dagger, he was not equipped to engage a wraith with skill he had no knowledge of.

"Oh, and Lady Blackbriar?"

"Yes?"

"The Dawnguard is not to be made aware of this, under any circumstances. Is that clear?" The words were thick with malice. "In fact, if it is in your power, I expect you to frustrate their efforts."

"Of course. I had already considered such action." True to her word, Maven was unsurprised by the request.

"Then I shall leave you to enjoy your meal." the vampire simpered, turning from Maven and walking toward the stairs. Eldairn pressed himself against the floor, willing the leaking barrels of ale to cover his scent. The creature's steps grew closer and paused as he descended, savouring the air with a deep drag. As the seconds grew longer, Eldairn gripped the dagger at his belt and prepared to push the barrels out on top of the creature. Both vampire and werewolf remained still, one not alert to the other. The vampire smiled wistfully, his voice barely audible. "So it begins."

Descending the stairs, he melted into the noise below. To have missed Eldairn's presence, the vampire was obviously a diplomat and not a warrior. After waiting until he could no longer make out the creature's scent, Eldairn jumped from behind the barrels and strode into the room, his muscles tense. With Maven still in her place, he strode over and slid into the seat opposite her. "So Maven, care to explain when you planned on telling us about this particular transaction?"

"Oh, it's you," the woman said, taking a sip from her goblet while refusing to shift her gaze from the wall. It did little to distract from the tremble in her fingers as she brought it to her lips.

He fumed at her from across the table. The woman was unbelievable. "I heard it all Maven. Everything."

"I thought the deal was well thought out. The money starts flowing even faster, and the addicts can stop their withdrawal symptoms." The woman finally looked at him, mirthless. "Everybody wins."

"I'm more concerned about the part where you promised free reign of the hold to vampires," Eldairn growled. "Are you mad?"

"Perhaps I am. But at least I am not ignorant," she said disdainfully.

"I'm sure the guild will be pleased you were willing to cut us out on Redwater den. Perhaps we should pay it a visit just to make sure it doesn't pay off."

"The vampires are far more numerous than you know. You cannot eliminate them all in that cave so easily," she said flatly.

"So you decided that letting them loose would preserve your safety?" he asked, disbelieving.

"I must safeguard my investments. I needed assurance that my activities and my family would not be harmed. Who knows how much longer this war could last? The vampires are taking advantage of it. They are not the mindless disorganised rabble you've dealt with before. Something is driving them." She held her goblet with both hands, her eyes cold with observation. "These attacks of theirs are coming faster. They are unified, timed. Strategic."

He had to agree with her. Not only were the creatures far more dangerous, targeted and intelligent, even their scent was different. Older, and apparently wiser; not the useless filth that had inhabited common caves and ruins.

"Then we should have discussed an extermination option. Between the Companions, the legion, and the stormcloaks in their different regions, they could have been dealt with."

"Unity between the empire and Ulfric Stormcloak? If you think that is possible, you are a greater fool than I thought."

"A common enemy would have motivated them. It was a better option than selling out the Rift."

"They would not have acted until it was far too late," she huffed. "I am protecting my interests. Have you not seen how much of a danger these creatures are becoming?" Maven examined him, eyes narrowed. "You're far too forward for a thief. Have Delvin and Brynjolf taught you nothing?"

"They taught me how to honour people who deserve it." His face fell into a flat frown. He well knew exactly how much of a danger vampires were. "What about enlisting the Dawnguard?"

The woman's gaze was ice. "The Dawnguard are only a fragment of what they used to be. Not even Isran, their leader is in the same shape he used to be. They wouldn't be capable of providing anything."

"You knew him?"

"One might say that. The relationship was strictly professional."

"Well, I'm sure he'll be pleased to find out you chose to ally with his enemy." He stood from the chair, eager to leave her presence. "So you are not behind the missing trade caravans?"

"Of course not," she scoffed. "I have just as much to lose from that as the guild. It would seem that our friends have been ransacking as they see fit."

Eldairn ground his teeth. The greedy, honourless bitch. "Regardless of what you agreed to, I am going to the Dawnguard. Where are they?"

Her eyes narrowed. "The mountains southeast of here. Apart from that, I know nothing else. But know that I made an agreement and compromising that will bring retribution down on all of us." Maven's voice softened, her own austere blend of fear colouring her voice. But only for a moment, and it turned once again to frost.

"Now, if you are satisfied with your inquiry, this conversation is over." Imperious as ever, Maven arose from her seat and nodded curtly to him. "I won't insult your intelligence by asking for confidentiality. Need I remind you that I have the power to eternally destroy your reputation?"

The woman had him by a rope with his wish for his less than legal activities to remain clandestine. The image of Lady Blackbriar flying straight into the wall of the inn with the force of his thu'um was becoming immensely appealing. His restraint waned with every second.

"If you are so bent on exploiting Riften's people, I do not understand why you simply gave the vampires the city and their lives as well," he seethed, struggling to contain his voice.

As she strode for the door, she looked back over her shoulder, emotionless. "What good is power if there is no one to wield it over?"

With a furious guild master in her wake, she descended the stairs and disappeared from view. "Confidential my arse," he growled. Brynjolf and Karliah needed to know, as did Vex and Delvin. Ever since Mercer's betrayal, their policy of open leadership demanded as much, and he would gladly give it.


	4. Chapter 3

"So, you decided to visit after all lad?"

Brynjolf's brogue greeted him as Eldairn emerged from the gloom into the pale orange light of the underground hall. Dark and dank, the structure was once the city's only true well, the worn stack-stone walls carpeted with moss slick with water. The supply had long since been redirected from the cistern to other wells around Riften, and the only water present now was the two-foot deep pool in the centre, which was fed by small streams that emerged from the wall near Nocturnal's shrine. Walking across the bridge that spanned the pool, Eldairn joined Bryn at the guild master's desk, where the man was contemplating a map of trade routes.

"Circumstances have changed," Eldairn growled. "We need to speak with Karliah, Delvin and Vex."

The redhead straightened, laying down the quill in his hand. "You look very grim."

"I met with Maven." The gravity in Eldairn's voice was enough for the thief to know.

Brynjolf's smile fell flat. "I'll gather the others."

Eldairn glanced around as the guild second's footsteps echoed away among the quiet laughter and chatter of the resident thieves that milled around. The guild was flourishing, each thief raking in ample profit, their skills growing steadily by the day. Already Brynjolf's recruiting had paid off, with two new young male recruits, and one young woman. The atmosphere was far removed from what it had been when Mercer had the guild in the palm of his hand. With everyone apprehensive and on edge, the bitterness from old rivalries had seemed to seep from the walls and leave a acrid taste in their mouths.

Now, there was revelry and laughter. Perhaps a humour somewhat more sordid than what was accepted by the average citizen, but it was there. There was peace and content in the guild. Of course, Vipir the Fleet was still pursuing Sapphire, resulting in the inevitable swearing, a dented saucepan, and a rather large bruise on Vipir's head. But apart from the usual vexation between members, all was well.

Eldairn crossed the Cistern towards the training room and settled on a barrel, awaiting the other members of the management. He couldn't help a smirk as their bantering voices reached his ears before he caught sight of them through the half light.

"So the guild master graces us with a visit?" Vex smirked, the curve softening her sharp features and pale colouring. "I hope you're here to pick up some jobs. Gods know Delvin won't get off his fat arse to do them."

"Now 'old on there a minute, love," Delvin said, wounded. "I know how pleased you were to see my face when I-"

"Sod off, old man," she barked.

Karliah shook her head, eyes glowing with amusement. "It is good to see you again, Eldairn."

"I wish the circumstances were better Karliah," Eldairn rose from the barrel, face grim. "I'll have to hear any news from you all later, this can't wait. I tracked a vampire through the city tonight and into the inn. Bryn, those meetings you thought Maven was setting up?"

"Maven's meeting vampires?" Brynjolf asked, brow raised.

Delvin's eyes grew wide with disbelief. "Bloody hell, what would she want with them?"

"The vampire belongs to a clan that has control over a skooma den. Maven wanted in and proposed a deal to guarantee her safety, but I don't think she bargained for what it'd cost."

"So the she-devil is shit scared enough to cut a deal with them," Vex snarled. "Let's just blow a hole in the den and that'll be the end of it."

Eldairn shifted uneasily, frown still fixed in place. Karliah caught his move and sensed he wasn't finished. "That's not what is worrying you, is it?"

Eldairn looked at the ground in thought, head shaking. "It's larger than just the den. We all know their numbers have increased dramatically. That is what Maven fears."

"And you trust Maven?" Vex scoffed.

"No," Eldairn replied. "But I know that we don't have the capabilities to deal with an entire den of vampires, or more. Most of us are thieves, not warriors."

"Then we hire someone," Vex muttered. "We've got the coin, even if the last shipment we heisted were fir trees, not furs, right Delvin?"

Delvin, ignoring the jab, was serious for a moment and looked at Eldairn. "What did the bloody leech want in return, son?"

The room became tenuously quiet. Eldairn took in their hesitant faces for a moment, his stomach heavy. "In return for her empire's safety, Maven has given the vampires free run of the Rift."

"Free run?" Karliah hissed, her expressive indigo eyes narrowing.

"As much as it is in her power, the vampires will be able to run through the hold without being hunted or held to account." Eldairn muttered, brow furrowing as his voice darkened with sarcasm. "She was generous enough to ensure that our trade routes remain open, though."

"So, the people have no protection now?" Brynjolf spoke from his place leaning against the wall, lips fixed in a frown.

"Not outside Riften's walls at least. I assume she'll give orders for the guards in the smaller villages to return to the city."

"Does she realise that the guild depends on the people? Hurt them and we've got nothing to work off." The atmosphere became progressively heavier as Brynjolf's voice darkened.

"Maven's not a fool," Karliah interjected. "She knows. It works on two fronts for her. She can drive us under just enough to undermine our sudden burst of independence."

"So then we rat her out?" Vex sneered. "It would be about time we got her off our back."

Brynjolf shook his head. "We rat her out, there's nothing to stop her from blowing our establishment and ruining the guild."

Eldairn hummed his agreement. "And she will be covering her tracks. What other option is there?"

They were thoughtfully silent until Vex huffed. "I still say we cut off the problem at the root. Get rid of the den. The vampires will no longer trust Maven, their deal will be off, and everything will be back to normal."

Eldairn rubbed his hand along the week's growth on his chin. While that could be true at least for the guild's interests, unease nagged at him. This deal, the hall of the vigilants and the attacks on the cities all happening at once; it was not coincidental. With the weight he had borne since that night at the hall, perhaps it was simply his nerves fraying under the heat of his guilty conscience. But it was as though the creatures were announcing their arrival, almost as Alduin had done that day at Helgen. At least the dragons had the decency to fight in the light, rather than shadow. There was no feeling he hated quite so much as the feeling of being in the dark, knowing nothing of the enemy's plans. He looked at each of them. "These creatures are more than just vagrants. They're organised, coordinated. Someone must be pulling the strings."

Delvin spoke from the corner of the room, quiet until now. "Then we go to the Dawnguard."

"The Dawnguard?" Vex asked, skeptical. "Isn't that just some old coot cooped up in an ancient fort? It's in shambles! There are barely any to their ranks!"

"If these vampires are unusual," Delvin glanced at Eldairn, "they're the best ones to 'andle this. They know more about it than the rest of us. And we get to keep our 'ands clean. Relatively."

"Do they have the strength to do it though?" Brynjolf asked.

"There's only one way we find that out," Delvin proclaimed. "One of us 'as to join 'em."

Immediately, all eyes went to the Dragonborn. He hesitated, with an almost imperceptible shake of his head.

Karliah stepped up to him. She knew how capable he was, how he wielded a sword like he'd been born holding it. He had preserved her life on more than one occasion and now being dragonborn, she couldn't fathom a single warrior she knew would best him. "You're the best choice we have, Eldairn, and you know it."

Brynjolf straightened. "And you're the one who saw this meeting and the vampire."

Eldairn studied the guild members around him. Truthfully, they were right. It would mean he would be plunging down another rabbit hole. He suppressed a groan. The silver hand and the dragons, though they hid for now, would not wait forever. Yet, he had a death to avenge against the black-hearted creatures, a weight that had been pressing on his shoulders for almost a month. His time with the Dawnguard would surely only be temporary, he reasoned, until Redwater Den was taken care of and Maven Blackbriar put back in her place. And he would relish the chance to spit on the corpses of those who killed the vigilants. The companions would simply have to deal with the Silver Hand in his absence. He set his jaw. "I'll leave in a day."

"Then we're agreed?" Bryn drawled, picking an apple from a nearby basket and tossing it to his other hand. "We let you handle it?"

The chorus of nods and "ayes" around the room settled the plan.

"In that case," Vex piped up, "There's a sweep job that needs doing in Solitude, and Erikur's been a little late with our cut from a shipment of goods he brought in three weeks ago. He needs a little…persuasion."

"I'll manage Erikur," Bryn said between the crunch of apple. "It's been too long since I graced the women of the court with my presence."

Vex grimaced with a roll of her eyes before thumping two sealed letters into Bryn's chest with her hand. "There's your details. I pity the women in that bloody palace."

Bryn just grinned, bowing with a stroke of Vex's hand as he took the letters from her. "Good luck, Eldairn," he said with a mock salute. "You know where to find me if I'm needed." Bryn strode out, Karliah following him with a squeeze of Eldairn's shoulder.

Vex looked from their backs to the guildmaster, a concerned frown on her face. "Just don't do anything rash with this Dawnguard. Remember the guild needs you."

Eldairn looked up, stunned. "Wait, was that a hint of concern, Vex?"

Her eyes darted between him and Delvin for barely a moment, before narrowing til he could barely make out her pupils in her pale alabaster face. "Absolutely not. I only want to protect our most lucrative recruit."

"Ah! There she is!" he grinned, turning to Delvin. "For a moment I thought we'd lost her!" Eldairn turned back to her, with Delvin's answering chuckle bouncing off the walls. "Of course I won't do anything rash. When am I ever rash?"

Vex muttered beneath her breath and stalked out of the room. He turned to Delvin and stopped short when he saw the man's unusually analytical gaze.

"Eldairn, Bryn told me you asked for information about the cretins before you ever followed Maven. Apparently, you looked like a man hell bent on destruction," Delvin prodded. "Is there a more personal reason to this boyo?"

Delvin. Always straight to the point. For a fleeting moment, the guild master appeared to consider it, before his thoughts were masked again. "While I appreciate the sentiment, I'd prefer not to discuss it."

Delvin disapproved. "Of course, keep your secret. Don't mean I like it though. You keep too many of 'em. It ain't good for you."

"Delvin, you know my feelings on this, and I already know your opinion."

"But you should listen to it," Delvin said emphatically. "You can learn things from your elders you know."

"Learn what? How to be a nameless vagrant who spends all day in his cups lusting after a woman half his age?" He growled bitterly, the barb finding its mark in the bald man's eyes.

He sank onto the barrel, drained. "Delvin, I'm sorry. I don't know why I said that." The painful silence lengthened.

"I can see it in you, you know. We all can. Me, Bryn, Vexy and Karliah."

The dragonborn leant his head in his hands in a rare show of weariness.

"I know something 'appened with the vampires to make you this angry," Delvin said, holding up a hand as Eldairn opened his mouth to speak. "Don't interrupt boy. Deal with these vampires and spend some time away to get your head on straight."

Eldairn nodded.

"Do you still 'ear the voices?"

He nodded again, head low. His mouth felt like sandpaper as he parted his lips. "For a time, I thought it was getting better."

"Well," Delvin said, leaning back. "I think you should 'ave a good drink, get some rest. Then you need to find yourself a nice woman to 'elp ease some of that tension."

Eldairn barked a laugh, the smile reaching his eyes this time. "That's always your answer, isn't it?"

Delvin gave a lopsided grin. "It's the only cure-all I've ever found! I call it the hands-on approach. Works every time and tastes a whole lot better than that shit Karliah gives you."

Eldairn returned the smirk. "Well, I won't find any in Riften, that's certain."

Delvin tutted. "I know… You like your women Nordic and fierce. What's the problem with a little imperial every now and then?" The breton's grin bloomed. "They make you feel so large by comparison."

Eldairn's eyes gleamed as he suppressed a laugh, clapping a great paw on Delvin's shoulder. "I don't think I've ever had a problem feeling large by comparison, Del."

Delvin's grin flattened, giving the Dragonborn a shove. "Get outta 'ere boy, before I beat you for that." Eldairn ducked as Del took a half-hearted swipe at the side of his head. "Gotta keep you in one piece or both Vexy and Karliah would 'ave my 'ead."

"Vex?" Eldairn couldn't hide his confusion.

"Seems little Vexy 'as a soft spot for you. Not that sort of soft spot mind you, but a soft spot all the same." Delvin grinned at the relief on Eldairn's face. He hoped the man would never change. "Now get topside before those companions mount a search for you." The Dragonborn left the Breton alone in the training room, though he heard a rough chuckle follow him out. "I've still got a shot Vexy."


	5. Chapter 4

Winter had opted to descend with a vengeance and herald its arrival with an exceedingly frigid morning and three feet of overnight snowfall. It was for this reason that Eldairn Varikssen was wading his way through said thick snow, hood up, fur cloak encircling him despite his natural heat, with his mount Oberyn following behind him. The dapple-grey stallion stood at 18 hands and despite the horse's immense size, had refused to walk ahead of Eldairn to clear the snow.

The snow was arriving early, the leaves of the vivid orange birch trees in the Rift having not long begun to fall. True, it had not been quite so bad at the foot of the Velothi Mountains, the southern corner of the border between Skyrim and Morrowind. But the higher he had climbed, the thicker and more unforgiving it had become, hiding the path he followed and masking voids in the rock face that led to caverns and hundred-foot drops. Not even his familiar knowledge of the area could keep him entirely safe, and he had already, a few hours earlier, felt the adrenaline rush of a near plunge into thick, seemingly endless darkness below. It would be a hard winter for the province.

At least that meant that the Dawnguard's fortress was very well concealed. _Almost too well,_ he thought. The wind gusted, kicking up the snowy powder into his face. He tightened his grip on the reins as he guided Oberyn behind him. They had emerged from a pass that led through the base of the lower mountains and into an icy gorge, the slick walls rising at least a hundred feet either side of him. It was barely wide enough for him and his mount to walk side by side.

According to the directions he had been given by Brynjolf, Fort Dawnguard sat atop a rise at the very end of the canyon that the gorge would open into, built into the mountainous walls of the valley. It was an easily defensible position. Any attempt to assault the castle meant the assaulting force would have no other option but to enter via the gorge, a natural bottleneck that could easily be exploited to whittle down forces. The narrowness of Dayspring Canyon could thwart a large force with the right planning and numbers. Any worthwhile attack would have to come from above. The only enemy with that capability were dragons, and they were loyal to no man.

The gorge ended, opening into the valley Brynjolf had spoken of. The colours of fall could still be seen beneath the thin layer of snow that had dusted the valley. Through winds pulling the snow clouds rapidly across the gorge, it had escaped the brunt of the snowfall and defied the early winter so far. Birds still sang in the golden-leaved trees, though ice encased the waterfall and turquoise waters of the tarn a couple of hundred feet down the slope from the path. The golden flora and the pristine ice side by side brought a grin to his face. Only his homeland could present such a beautiful contrast.

The path led through splintered blockades and past a small training ground where a lone orc was firing a crossbow with expert accuracy. It was the first soul he'd seen in the valley, and he immediately doubted if the Dawnguard was as well-established as he'd been led to believe. The defences were in such a state of disrepair that it must have been only recently re-occupied. The imposing face of the fort loomed ahead of him, obviously aged but still sturdy, with enormous stone slabs composing the wall.

On the stairs leading to grand heavy wooden doors was a seasoned man, brown hair peppered with grey, and lean with the distinctive round facial features of a Breton. Though wiry, there was a confidence about him that spoke of years of experience. Oberyn whinnied in greeting.

"I am here to speak to Isran," Eldairn announced.

The Breton folded his arms, sizing up the man before him. "Here to join the Dawnguard?"

"Perhaps," he replied. "I have information he'll want to hear."

The man hesitated before giving a gruff nod. "He's inside. My name is Celann. Welcome."

"Thank you." Eldairn signalled Oberyn to wait and followed Celann through the heavy doors.

Within, the fort mirrored the disrepair he had found outside, the walls thick with cobwebs, and the air carrying the distinctive scent of rats. An enormous circular hall stood before him, the walls rising to a vaulted ceiling high above him. The centre of the hall was lit by sunlight pouring from a large opening in the ceiling, with a small grated circular trench in the floor to collect whatever rainwater passed through it. On it were two men, their postures both stiff with anger.

A growling baritone echoed through the entryway. "Why are you here Tolan? The vigilants and I were finished with each other a long time ago."

"You know why I'm here," a lightly accented nord said. Eldairn recognised the robes of the vigilants of Stendarr. The man continued, his voice weary but angry. Burdened. "The vigilants are under attack everywhere. These vampires are much more dangerous than we believed."

The other man, a thickly-built redguard had a menacing scowl fixed to his face. "And now you come running to safety with the Dawnguard, is that it?" he glowered, bitterness dripping from his tone. "Keeper Carcette told me repeatedly that Fort Dawnguard is a crumbling ruin, not worth the expense or manpower to repair. And now you've stirred the vampires up against you, you come begging for my protection?"

"Isran," the Vigilant said, his voice breaking. "Carcette is dead. The hall of the vigilants…everyone…they're all dead." His hands trembled, his nerves raw. "You were right and we were wrong. Isn't that enough for you?"

The redguard – _Isran_ \- hesitated, showing a hint of remorse that sat awkwardly on his hard features as if he were not a man made for gentleness. "I never wanted any of this to happen. I tried to warn you all. I am," he paused again as if the word was sour in his mouth. "I am sorry, you know."

His hard eyes flicked to Eldairn. "And you, what do you want?"

"I came with news about the hall of the vigilants," Eldairn said warily. "I discovered it a few hours after the attack, in flames. It was a massacre."

The vigilant paled further. "A child? Did you see a child there?"

Eldairn's eyes hardened, his voice wooden. "She is dead." The vigilant wilted. His face bore a weight that aged him far beyond his years.

Eldairn continued, giving a sorrowful nod to the vigilant. "I also have information on the location of a vampire den that is important to their movements in the Rift. I had hoped to come here and gather a few of your men to clear them out." He glanced around the solitary entryway and heard very little noise coming from the wings branching off it. "It seems you have fewer recruits than I thought."

Isran scowled. "We have spread word of the Dawnguard, but few have the courage to risk their necks and join our force. Our recruitment has been slow so far, but the quality of our volunteers is good." The man narrowed his eyes. "Do not make the mistake of thinking this force is weak."

"I know the value of good men," Eldairn replied firmly.

Isran scoffed. "What do you know of battle? And for that matter, who are you?"

He let the question lie. "My name is Eldairn Varikssen."

"Whoever you are, you are right," the redguard breathed reluctantly. "I do not have the men to spare for you." His dark eyes narrowed. "And I would need you to prove your skill to me before I even let you near them."

Isran turned to the vigilant. "Tolan, what did you say the name of that barrow was?"

"Dimhollow crypt," he replied wearily. "Brother Adalvald said he found something there. Something the vampires were after that seemed to be of great importance."

"An artefact?" Eldairn mused.

"Something like that. We didn't believe him, and then the creatures came at nightfall to take him." Tolan rubbed his bald head. "Whatever information he had is now in the hands of the vampires."

"They obviously believe him," Isran muttered. "Even though it may be just ravings of a madman, we need to find out what is in that crypt. Wouldn't hurt to take out any vampires there as well." He turned to Eldairn. "Go to Dimhollow. Make it back alive with results and we'll discuss your plan for this other vampire lair. That will prove whether you're worth having." Isran drew himself up. "Tolan, show him how to get there. If you wish, you may stay with the Dawnguard tonight. Otherwise, be on your way." The redguard turned and left, leaving the two nords together.

Tolan showed him to a side room and explained the route to him on the large map laid out on the table. If he made his way back to the hall of the vigilants in the Pale, the crypt could be reached by climbing a path hidden to the north, up into the mountain that shadowed the hall. Tolan assured him there were no forks of the trail to lead him astray.

"I shall meet you there," the aging man said firmly. "It is the least I can do."

Eldairn met his gaze doubtfully. The dull glint in the vigilant's eyes lingered. The man was injured and weary, that much was obvious. Minor wounds scratched his forearms, but even minor wounds without treatment could be dangerous. There was risk of infection, reopening. And he had a limp, his body was gaunt and looked hollow.

"Please, there is no need," Eldairn said. "You have not recovered. Take Isran up on his offer and stay."

Tolan laughed hoarsely. "And never hear the end of his gloating? I'd rather not."

"Surely he would leave you in peace," Eldairn offered, sounding unconvinced even to himself.

"Isran is not an easy man to work with," Tolan replied. "But he is not the reason I cannot stay. If I left vengeance for another man to deal out, what would that say of the value I placed on my friends?"

Eldairn nodded, understandingly.

"I intend to regain my honour," he said determinedly.

"Just because you couldn't save your friends, does not make you dishonourable."

"You are right." Tolan fixed his eyes on the wall, his face pained. "What makes me dishonourable is that I didn't try." He straightened from looking over the map, eyes steely. "Now I have a chance to make this right." He held out his hand in customary farewell, and Eldairn grasped it. "If you wish to help me, meet me outside the crypt in five days. I will not wait for you."

Eldairn looked the broken man in the eye. "I will help you. But promise me you will not throw away your life."

Tolan released his hand and looked at him glassy eyed. "It is my life. I will do with it what I will."


	6. Chapter 5

A few hours before, the jagged pinnacle of the mountain crowned the whitewashed range like ink black glass erupting from the ground. It towered into the sky, the highest point hidden away in the milky grey cloud stretching to the horizon in all directions. The rolling front had chased him as he rode north, gradually consuming the clear blue sky. Now, the nord was barely able to see a few feet in front of him for the blizzard, the wind tearing at his cloak and lashing his skin.

The angle of the mountainside increased sharply, Eldairn's stallion slowing its pace as it picked a safe path for itself and its rider. He had seen the beginnings of the trail from the base of the mountain, so narrow and treacherous that it was impossible to perceive on the distant granite face. Though Oberyn, his dapple grey, was a veteran of such terrain, it would not be long before the path became too perilous and narrow that Eldairn would have to dismount and continue on foot.

Lady Luck had deserted him back at the Nightgate Inn, where a thief had made off with his cooking pot, half his stock of medicinals and a dragonbone dagger. He thanked the gods that his woodcutter's axe had been passed over. The rugged landscape of the province and the harsh weather that assaulted it daily were as bitter an enemy as any vampire or bandit. There was no stupider way to get one's self killed than to venture out without a woodcutter's axe.

He shuddered again and urged his mount on. His fingers had long ago lost feeling and clung to the reins like a frozen vice. He peered upwards through the white, willing the opening of the crypt to appear, with a fire to provide at least some warmth to return the blood to his extremities.

He caught the flicker of a torch through the blur and pushed Oberyn faster, the climb plateauing out for a few metres alongside a crack in the mountain's granite, only the breadth of one man. From the outside, it was unobtrusive, with no runes or decoration that gave a hint as to what the vampires sought within. Only the ornate stone bridge that lead across a precipice to the shadowed entrance of the cave marked the ruin as Nordic in history.

He swung down from the saddle and checked his gear. A low nicker behind him betrayed his mount's concern. "Shhh, Oberyn. Be still." Eldairn pulled out his bow, testing the tension of the string as the curvature gleamed in the dull glow of the torch. At his gentle slap, Oberyn moved off to find shelter in the grove of trees a little further on from the entrance.

Pulling his cloak to shield his body from the weather, he crossed the aged bridge with wary steps. At his feet, a broken bowl, crushed snow, disturbed rock broken loose from the wall of the entrance. And dried blood, he thought, kneeling in the snow. Vigilant Tolan was absent. Either he had beaten Eldairn here and entered alone, lost his courage and fled, or he had not yet arrived. He hoped it was the latter, but the mood of the Vigilant when they'd parted told him otherwise.

The small entrance opened into a large cavern as he passed through, with light and a column of water falling through a tear in the jagged stone ceiling. Beneath him, a deep channel had been carved by the flow through the ground over many years. From his side of the stream, Eldairn scrunched his nose at the scent of vampire and heard the guttural growls of death hounds. There was movement from across the cavern. Two of the nightstalkers argued as he crept closer, garbed in the same dark leather and red cloth of the creatures that had attacked the vigilants.

Eldairn drew and nocked an arrow, and pulled the heavy bowstring taught. The fletching fluttered under his breath. He stilled. Aimed just at the neck of the vampire and released. His hands flew, the second arrow nocked and drawn before the first vampire crumpled to the ground. Three counts and another arrow had struck home in the second leech. The creature clawed at its throat, gurgling with blood as it sank to the ground.

The death hounds ran in disarray, seeking his scent. Their bullheads jerked his way as he drew, and they vaulted towards him. Another arrow thudded into the head of the first, but the second was at him before he could draw again. His booted leg struck into the creature's chest and it was thrown backwards. He ripped his knife from the sheath as it jumped for him again. With a crack, he buried the blade hilt-deep into the hound's head. It dropped to the floor, limp. Lip curled, he pressed his boot on the black skinless creature and yanked the knife from its skull. Thick black liquid spilled from the hole in the creature and he grimaced, stepping back as the air filled with the stench of death.

He had only seen the creatures once before, during a vampire attack made on the outskirts of Whiterun not a month ago. The hounds had long enough to sink their fangs into two of the Whiterun garrison before they were killed. The men had been raced back to the Temple of Kynareth and placed at the feet of the priestess, but despite all the efforts of the divine's ordained, the men had perished in an agonising fashion. Not even the court mage had been able to discern the properties of the poison, nor the Jarl's alchemist. When at last the priestess closed their eyes and commended their souls to Sovengarde, their blood had long frozen within them, their skin an icy pallor and eyes frosted with death. He shuddered at the memory of the screams that had echoed through the wind district and seeped through the thick walls of Jorrvaskr. With no antidote to the bites, he would have to make the beasts his first targets.

Stepping over the bodies, he followed the path toward an ancient gate gleaming in the torchlight ahead. As he passed, he wiped the tar like blood from the knife with the dead vampire's cloak. As he looked ahead, his heart sunk.

Before the iron gate, he found Tolan's broken body. Now cold and pale, the man's lifeless gaze fell on an amulet of Stendarr lying barely an inch from his reaching fingers. Eldairn knelt to pick up the worn carving, fingers brushing the dust from the surface as he breathed a prayer for the man. A foot or two from him, two other vampires were maimed and gutted, skin torn by the jagged edges of a warhammer.

Eldairn closed the man's eyes and gently placed the amulet in the outstretched hand. Whatever dishonour the vigilant had felt he had committed, it was absolved in his death. Whether it had been folly or courage that drove the man, there was honour in avenging his comrades. The halls of Sovngarde would welcome him with feasting and song.

In the main chamber, he found himself on a high balcony bordered by stairs and overlooking a great cavern, at least seven dragons in height and the breadth of eight dragons across. In its centre was an enormous circular platform, raised above the vast underground lake that lay below. Tall arches of ancient inky black stone circled the platform, enshrining whatever had been in the centre when it was constructed.

He marvelled at the architecture, it's age and origins clearly different from the Nordic tombs that surrounded it. Where the Nordic barrow was rudimentary and hewn from the cavern walls, the masonry of the structure before him was exacting and precise. Though elegant, the arrangement of the platform below had echoes of a summoning circle he had been unfortunate enough to see in the depths of Falkreath Forest, and the great arches had an appearance eerily similar to oblivion gates. All of it served to put him on edge. A bridge from the courtyard below him seemed to be the only access to it.

Eldairn ducked down at the sound of voices. "I will not ask again, filth. How do we recover the artefact?"

A weary voice echoed off the stone surrounds. "I will never tell you anything vampire. My oath to Stendarr is stronger than any suffering you can inflict on me."

"I believe you vigilant. And I don't think you even know what you've found here. So go and meet your beloved Stendarr," another voice sneered, followed quickly by the wet crunch of steel against flesh and bone.

"Was that wise Lokil? He still might have told us something."

"He had nothing of import to tell. We shall have to do the work ourselves."

Eldairn peered over the railing of the landing he was crouched on, the level below illuminated by the deep orange flame from a brazier. Two pale figures dressed in black and red stood together, with a third dressed in rags and lying motionless on the ground between them. The other vigilant. He had shown a great deal of backbone judging by the wounds marring his chest. The two vampires left the body behind them and moved toward the narrow bridge.

Descending the stairs to follow them, he kept his footfalls soft. Though the lack of air movement made the musty air heavy and stifling, at least it prevented his scent from moving too quickly towards the vampires.

The creatures and their thrall had crossed the ornate bridge and assembled around a circular platform that he guessed held the great artefact the vigilant had spoken of. On the lower level of stairs, he found the vigilant against the floor, his skin marred with deep cuts and bruises from neck to waist. Eldairn gently closed the man's eyes.

Still unnoticed by the vampires below him, he nocked an arrow to his bow. The thrall was trailing behind the other vampires, a bow slung across his back. Eldairn sighted his first target. Following the twang of his bow, the arrow struck home in the back of the thrall's neck. The body crumpled to the ground, the vampires spinning to find the thrall dead. The angle of the fall made it appear that the arrow had been fired from the far end of the cavern. Eldairn breathed steadily as he saw the creatures move away. He could shoot the first, but that would give away his position and the second would likely then be out of range. He would have to cross the open platform bathed in light to get to the other; practically walking out with 'bite me' written on his back. No; he had to get as close to the two as he could.

Eldairn drew his dagger, descended the final set of stairs in silence and crossed to the platform, keeping to the shadows behind the archways. The two vampires split and the younger one walked slowly in his direction, spells crackling in her hands. Yellow eyes scanned the area around him. Hidden behind the archway, he watched her shadow on the ground as she drew closer.

A bat screeched somewhere in the distant ceiling and the vampire's shadow retreated as she turned away. Eldairn cursed silently. Pressed against the stone, he kicked some rock pieces away from the arch with his heel. The soft clatter of stone on stone at his feet rang out. He heard a sharp hiss from the vampire and her shadow raced closer, her steps growing louder.

She stepped through the archway and he spun around it. Behind her, he drove his dagger up through her back. The nightstalker gasped and clutched at her chest, the tip of a dagger protruding out her front. With confusion still plastered to her face, her neck cracked as it twisted hard to the left, forced by a hand against her forehead.

Lokil, the master vampire, spun. The crumpled bloody form of his progeny lay on the floor several metres away, her head at an odd angle. And no murderer to be seen. His gut twisted as he hissed through clenched teeth. He wouldn't say he ever loved his creations, but he had had an ascetic fondness of Tawera. And now she was dead.

"Where are you?" he sneered, posture composed as he stepped onto the platform. "You cannot conceal yourself from me." Entering the corner of his vision, a figure vaulted from the darkness, rising at his back. Before his attacker could strike with the glinting blade, Lokil vanished in a flurry of black to reappear a safe thirty feet away.

Eldairn straightened, dagger raised and drew the sword at his side.

"Reckless man," Lokil spat, bringing a scarlet whirl of magic to his hands.

The spell hit Eldairn like a ram and his limbs sagged, every movement like swimming through molasses.

Wuld!

The sound was unlike any the vampire had heard, the ground reverberating with its echoes. The man became a blur and closed the gap in a moment. Sword and dagger flashed perilously close to Lokil's face with unnerving speed. He backpedalled creating some much needed distance from the attacker, as the aftermath of the man's shout rained dust upon Him.

Sparks of magic leapt from Lokil's hand and the man sent his dagger flying at him.

It flew just wide of the creature as it spun away, slicing stray thread from its robe. He gritted his teeth and growled.

Barely dodging the vampire's arc of lightning, he ducked to his left. The sparks caught his sword and passed through the metal to his hand, spasming in pain. He slid his other dagger from its sheath and spun it toward the vampire. It stayed true and thudded into its leg. The creature screeched. It was the opening he needed. He barrelled towards him, his head charging into the leech's chin. Lokil dropped to the ground with a bloody howl, his jaw cracked. Eldairn jerked the knife from the leech's flesh and blood pulsed anew from the severed artery.

"Tell me what I want to know, and I will let you die quickly."

The leech spat blood at his feet. "I will never betray my Lord," he chuckled, the sound wet. "The manner of my death makes little difference to me."

The creature lunged, snarling, blade in hand quicker than Eldairn had seen. It flashed in the light as he jerked out of its path, tainted green with poison. The vampire slashed at him from his knees, a whirl of iridescent magic brewing that he did not recognise. Eldairn dove out of range and came to his knees with a heavy intake of breath.

"IIS SLEN NUSS!" A wave of frost spilled forth from his lips, washing over the creature and encasing it in ice. A snarling effigy of the vampire with gnarled claws grasping at empty air.

He grinned despite his aching muscles, still buzzing from the electricity that had coursed through them. He would never tire of that shout. With a heave, he shouldered the iced vampire over, the statue teetering momentarily before it fell and shattered like porcelain.

The creature's electrical spell had left the muscles in his forearm contracting and his fingers spasming around the hilt of his sword. He gently prised his stiff fingers from the weapon. If the spell had connected with his chest for too long, his heart, not his hand, would have been convulsing.

In the centre of the platform was a pedestal surrounded by archways and the architecture like a shrine. He circled it as he sheathed his sword, examining the runes etched into the floor in concentric circles. Obviously ancient, and with characters that suggested Daedric origin yet were distinct from any Daedric texts he had seen. Though admittedly, the planes of oblivion had not been a prioritised field of study in his time with the Greybeards. The top of the pedestal was set with a flawless round ruby about the size of his palm, with decorative grooves chiselled into the stone. An energy pulsed from it with a low hum he couldn't shake from his ears. The facets of the gem were a deep crimson red that seemed fathomless, the light refracting endlessly within.

He lifted a finger to trace the edge, warmth suffusing his hand and up his arm at the eerie contact. Infused with an enchantment of course, he frowned. He had certainly had an eye for gems in the past, but none had ever been so enrapturing. It was certainly beautiful enough for him to believe it was the item of value he had been searching for. Yet the vampires had been convinced the tomb held something more for them to find. If only I can find the release for it. Eldairn pressed his palm against the gem and grasped it tight, the crimson glow pulsing stronger and stronger. A gasp broke from his lungs as a six-inch spike shot up from the pedestal and tore through the centre of his hand, his nerves singing with pain. Curiosity will be the death of me! He sent a seething glare towards the now blinding light beating from the gem.

Jaw clenched, he pulled his hand from the barb, the flesh rending further as it slid free. His glistening crimson blood gathered at the base of the spike, dripping down channels in the stonework and filling the ancient letters at the base with a strange glow. With the wound bleeding quickly, Eldairn pulled the gauntlet from his hand, feeling the limb tenderly. Miraculously, the bone had been missed, and the tendons seemed unharmed as he flexed his fingers, though the nerves groaned at the movement. He bound it quickly with a clean rag before tugging the gauntlet back on. The sooner he left the crypt, the sooner he could tend to it.

A wall of iridescent purple light encircled him in the centre of the room. The colour of necromancy, he thought, lip curling in distaste. It suited the blood spike he had impaled himself on. Reaching out, he held his good hand to the rippling spectral wall, the temperature frigid. He stuck his hand through the centre and it parted for his arm, tickling up either side with an iciness that penetrated his armour and mail. It was all around him and connected with a brazier that stood a metre from him, burning with flames of the same purple. There were a few more like it scattered evenly across the platform.

On a hunch, he gave one of the other braziers a shove. Sliding into place along grooves in the floor, it also lit up with the same purple flame. One by one, he shifted the braziers to join the magical wall before the ground began to rumble. He stood still as the stone lowered beneath him, revealing a monolith that stood perhaps a head taller than him.

He frowned. Definitely not Nordic. It was carved in the same gothic style as the rest of the cavern, its age impossible to estimate. The flawless dark granite surface had no evidence of wear, but resembled an upright sarcophagus, the only contents he could imagine being a rotting corpse. Not for the first time, the possibility that the vigilant had been mistaken, or even delusional, crossed his mind.

Eldairn inspected the monolith, running his hands along the cold stone looking for a latch, anything that would reveal what was hidden inside. Finding nothing, he shoved his weight against the stone and heard a strong click as the face moved in an inch. He stood back as the rock slid away, before his jaw slackened at its contents.

A woman? By the ashen skin, she appeared very much dead, though her body showed no marks of age. In fact, she seemed as fresh as the day she had been encased, free even of dust. The air around her shimmered with an unearthly radiance, shifting and warping in place. He stepped closer to the creature and his skin came alight with an odd sensation, a tingling that seeped into his very bones.

Beautiful, he observed as he warily reached to check for a pulse in her neck beneath the frigid skin. Nothing. Raven hair fell perfectly framing her face and curling just at the ends, the loose strands pulled into small braids away from her face. Her features were fine and carefully sculpted, high cheekbones framing her face. Absently, he wondered what colour her eyes would have been when she was alive. Her slightly upturned nose would have appeared a little haughty had it not been for the full lips beneath them. He tilted his head. If he had not known himself better, he would have said there was a twinge of disappointment that he would never see them in any other expression but death.

The corpse had a scent about her, one that told of eras gone by, but not of decay. More ancient, like the pages of an old tome passed down through the ages. There was something else there. The scent of blue mountain flower and…cinnamon? There was a tang of something that eluded him. Familiar yet he couldn't quite place his finger on it.

The figure stirred suddenly and fell forward. Stunned, Eldairn was fixed to the floor as the thing hit his chest. Whether it was dead or alive, his mind was too sluggish to comprehend. Cool hands clung to his shoulders; a head pressed to his chest as it struggled for balance.

"I…" She looked up. Eldairn immediately registered confusion in her eyes. Vampiric golden eyes.

And the spell was broken.

The creature wrenched Eldairn's knife from his belt and gave him a powerful shove backwards. Eldairn stumbled, losing his footing over the stone steps. She was immediately on him. He'd had barely enough time to draw his other dagger before she pinned him to the floor, pressing her weight into the knife she held at his throat with astounding strength. He cleared his throat as he saw her lips curve into a smile, revealing unblemished fangs. Much too close.

"You're a vampire," he growled, the blade of his dagger pressing firmly into her stomach.

"So astute," she hissed, "what gave it away?" The vampire scowled as the dagger bit deeper into her waist. She had to know that with his strength, he would gut her by the time her blade reached his spine.

Eldairn caught her gaze flicking to the pulse throbbing steadily in his neck and pressed the blade harder against her with a growl. "Don't even think about it."

"Why would I?" she hissed back, eyes gleaming a deep hungry red. "You're holding a dagger at my stomach."

"I should just kill you now and be done with it."

"Do that and you're dead too. I'll have time to cut your throat," she muttered, a curious expression growing on her face.

"Then we are at an impasse," he grated, trying to pull his neck further from his blade in its hands.

She cocked her brow, chasing the scant millimetres he had put between them with the razor edge. "Perhaps a negotiation?"

"I don't negotiate with filth," he spat. His sudden intake of breath made her jerk.

"What-"

"Fus…ro dah!" The vampire sailed through the air before her head collided with a stone arch and she fell to the floor. Vampire or not, he winced at the powerful impact with the stonework. Eldairn rose to his feet. When she didn't stir, he walked to the fallen figure, nudging her foot with the dagger she dropped in her flight. Out cold. She would have one heck of a headache when she awoke. He paused. If she awoke.

His hand clenched around his dagger. Was this what the vampires had killed the vigilants for? He swallowed the urge to kill her there and then. Though she clearly had no qualms about making him her prey. His pride rankled at the thought. He would be no one's prey. With the edge of his dagger beneath her throat, he turned her head.

With her eyes closed, she looked like any other woman. There was no other evidence of sanguinare vampiris. Excluding her eyes, fangs and porcelain complexion. And her strength, Eldairn thought resentfully, rubbing his neck where she had used his own dagger against him. It was difficult to believe that something so delicate could be so powerful. He turned her head back with the blade, leaving a small cut in her skin, a single drop of blood tearing from it. At least he knew she bled.

From behind her shoulder, a golden object gleamed in the pale light. The end of a long golden cylinder encrusted in jewels poked out of a leather bag slung across her shoulder. From months of pouring over ancient texts, he knew at once what it was. An Elder Scroll. In the hands of a vampire. He clenched his jaw, the heat in his chest growing.

However strong the desire, it made little sense to kill her without any understanding of why the creatures had gone to such extraordinary lengths to free her. Or why she had the scroll. He needed rope, a chain, anything to restrain her with. Yet he had seen nothing of the sort on his way through the barrow. That left only the concoctions stored on his belt.

Pulling a light blue vial of paralysis poison from his belt pouch, he knelt by her. He shuddered at the contact with her frigid skin as he tipped her jaw, pouring the vial's contents down her throat.

Her clothes marked her as not from this era. She wore a deep crimson undershirt that extended to her wrists, where a fine but flimsy brace of leather circled her forearms. The same dark grey, almost black leather was arranged as a corset around her torso, though it offered little protection for her chest.

When she had first emerged, she had been as pale as snow, though now a little colour was growing. He glanced back at the sarcophagus. How long had the creature been locked away underground? Her awakening had evidently been a result of the spike piercing his hand. It had to have been a blood seal. And his blood had most likely passed straight into the mouth of the vampire lying motionless beside him.

His unease returned and he put some distance between them. He collected his weapons and sat at the base of the monolith where he waited for her to stir with his sword drawn, hoping to the Gods that the concoction worked.

She groaned as she finally awoke, her eyes opening languidly. Her sight was hazy, like peeing through opaque glass. Her sluggish limbs were little help as she tried to pull herself upright. A few rapid blinks and her sight began to clear.

"Welcome back to the land of the living. Or perhaps the not so living as it were."

She tried to shift her arms again but they remained on the ground like lead weight. Paralysed. A spell perhaps? "What did you do to me?" Her voice came out dry and hoarse. It felt like glue had been poured down her throat.

"Paralysed you. It was necessary to ensure my neck remained intact. "

As she rolled her head to follow his voice, she caught the scent of blood. Before she could make out any other detail, her eyes were drawn instantly to his hand. A piece of bloodied white cloth was haphazardly wrapped around his palm, obviously meant to stem the bleeding. It had little effect. The rich scent of the crimson liquid assaulted her, and she bit down on her tongue, waiting for the wave to subside. By the way he held his fingers, she could tell that the wound was painful. And judging by the position, she knew the blood seal had caused it.

"I want to finish this quickly," he continued, unmoved from his position in front of the monolith, sword conspicuous in his other hand, "I am going to ask you some questions and depending on your answers, I may let you live. Why were you locked away in there?"

She looked him up and down, examining him. He cut an imposing figure, at least a head taller than herself, and easily one of the most well-built men she had met. Absently, she mused about how much blood it would take to sustain a frame like that. He stepped impatiently toward her, sword point tapping gently on the ground. The blonde-haired nord had strangely soft foot falls. Her perusal ended at his eyes, too far away for her to make out the colour. There was something quick and sharp in them, like a bird of prey on the hunt. Not entirely human, she mused. If she hadn't been the object of his inquiry and distaste, she perhaps would have found it oddly reassuring.

"Assuming I give you this information, what do you plan to do with me?" she said, wary of the hostility he emanated. "You are obviously not friendly with my kind." She glanced across the floor to a corpse lying in a black pool of liquid, it's head at an angle and eyes frozen in an unnerving glazed stare.

He raised his brow. "I don't think you understand the way interrogation works."

"Given the current situation I'm not sure I can trust you," she scowled. "You just tried to send me to oblivion, and I am currently paralysed because of you, and I have no idea who you are." Her tone told him that she would have been ticking her reasons off on her fingers if she could.

"You're not exactly in a position to be making demands," he grunted, arms folding.

"Still," she replied unaffected, "I would like to know the identity of who I am negotiating with for my freedom."

The handsome blade quivered in his hand. His stance and grip immediately told her he was accustomed to using it. "Freedom!" He barked. "What makes you think I would free you?"

"Isn't that what the dashing adventurer is supposed to do for the damsel who's been locked away for so long?" she smiled innocently.

His eyes pierced her, the gaze hard and brow lowering even further. "Let me make something clear. I will never help your kind unless it's onto the sharp end of a wooden stake."

"I see Skyrim is still as intolerant as ever," she scowled. "I just want to know what's going on."

He shook his head, his expression somewhere between disbelief and impatience. "I have been employed by a group of vampire hunters. I was sent to investigate this crypt, which I was told held something of extraordinary value to you creatures. And I found you." He looked at her, his curiosity easy to see. "Frankly, they would want me to kill you and so do I. But as you are of some value apparently, I will have to postpone justice."

"Justice?" She scowled. Wonderful. Another uncompromisingly moral vigilante intent on cleansing the world of vampires, riddled with prejudices and distrust. She exhaled through her nose, measuring her breath. As much as she wished to, it would not benefit her to tell him exactly what she thought of his justice. Not in this state, "Look. Kill me you've killed one vampire. But if people are after me, it means there is something bigger going on. And I can help you figure it out. If you can help me get back home." She attempted sincerity again, though the irony was not lost on her. "By the way...my name's Serana. Good to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine." The sarcasm in his voice grated. He rubbed his jaw in thought. "If you can't tell me why you were in there, can you at least tell me how long you were in there for?"

"Hard to say…" she paused, biting her lip deep in thought. "Who is Skyrim's high king?"

"That's actually a matter for debate," he replied.

"Oh, wonderful. A war of succession. Good to know the world didn't get boring while I was gone. Who are the contenders?"

Eldairn almost laughed at her salty tone. Almost. "Well, the empire supports Elisif, but there are many in Skyrim loyal to Ulfric."

She blinked, her confusion at odds with her vampiric appearance. "Empire. What...what empire?"

"The empire...in Cyrodiil," he replied. Perhaps he had thrown her too hard against the stone.

"Cyrodiil's the seat of an empire?" She paused, brow furrowed. "I must have been gone longer than I thought. Definitely longer than we planned."

His jaw slackened. "You mean to say that Cyrodiil was never the seat of an empire in your time? That was over four thousand years ago."

Serana muffled a groan. Four thousand years? And no one had come for her…"Please," she bit back the hint of alarm in her voice. She was better than that. "I need to get home so I can figure out what's going on. If you want the whole story, that's the only way you're going to get it."

His look was intent while he considered. Eldairn sighed. "What assurance do I have that you won't drink me dry if I release you?"

She tamed the urge to laugh at his apprehension. At least he had the intelligence to be wary of her. Anyone who didn't fear her was a fool. "What assurance do I have that you won't fire me into a wall again?"

The dust settled in the cavern as he thought. "Well, I need information. Skyrim has changed somewhat since you knew it, so you need a guide."

He was right. It was in their mutual advantage to work together. She was unequipped and unprepared for travel, and she held the information he needed. Sluggishly she raised an arm to cover her brow, but thought better of trying on the damsel in distress routine that had so often worked on previous victims. "To be entirely honest, I don't even know where I am… My family used to live on an island west of Solitude. I would guess they still do. If you want the whole story, take me there."

Eldairn paced up and down, running his hand through his hair. "Will you tell me why you were imprisoned? I think I'm obliged to know."

She frowned. "I'd… Look, I don't know who I can trust yet. Let's get to my home, and I'll have a better sense of where we all stand."

The arrangement was so ridiculous he almost laughed. The apologetic look on her face was near to pushing him over the edge. Eldairn rested his head against the monolith, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. "I must be mad."

Stalking over to her, he removed another vial from his belt pouch. After pulling her roughly into a sitting position, with a pointed glare she opened her mouth and he poured the vial's contents in. She gave a choked swallow, and nodded her thanks.

Eldairn scowled at her. "It should act almost immediately."

He stowed the vial as he watched her sit up gingerly. "I also want to know why you have an elder scroll."

Serana narrowed her eyes, her hands moving possessively, if a little shakily, to close the end of the bag. "It's mine."

"Is it fragile?" he asked cautiously, almost as if his words would break the artefact.

Scoffing, she shook her head. "Nothing can destroy an elder scroll. You worry more about protecting your hide and let me worry about protecting my things."

"Your things?" Eldairn scoffed. "Elder scrolls do not belong to anyone. They choose their bearer."

Serana rose unsteadily and tried to regain her balance. "So you are intelligent?" she said surprised. "Yes, the scrolls choose their bearers and this one has chosen me. So, before you try, I am going to warn you not to take it from me."

"Can you at least show it to me?" he asked eagerly. "None of the scrolls have been seen by anyone for years!"

She gave a short laugh. "Then it shall stay that way for quite a while longer."

He folded his arms across his chest and his glare remained. An Elder Scroll within five metres of him and he couldn't even see what it looked like. The ancient writings had vanished over 25 years ago from the Imperial library, all 500 at once. None but the priests in the library had the capability to read them, and even then, they risked losing both their sight and their minds. So no one knew exactly what prophecies and wisdom the Aedra had written in them at the dawn of time. All they knew was that the untold knowledge within them was too much for a mortal mind to take.

He gave a cursory look to the vampire. "Can you walk?"

"I… Does the air feel heavy down here?" she said quietly. "I'm still a little woozy, but it might just be from waking up."

Eldairn glanced at the light entering through the ceiling, growing paler and the visible red sky tinged with a purplish hue. He would wait no longer, having no wish to descend the mountain in the dark. In a sudden swoop he picked her up and settled her over his shoulder, the one that wouldn't impale her on the bow strapped to his back.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, "I can walk. Just give me a minute." She thumped his back with her fists but scrambled for the straps of his armour when she began to slip. Her smirk returned when she heard him grunt at the impact, and then hiss as her fingers dug for purchase on his back.

"It's been a long day," he grunted. "I'm not waiting."

He began ascending the stairs, mind wandering at how surprisingly heavy the creature slung over his back was. He had fully expected her to be feathery light, from the way she walked, and almost ethereal, like his hands would slip right through her. Yet she was solid. Still on the slighter side, but toned and touchable, he mused. Human, if it weren't for … everything else.

He gritted his teeth as her fist connected with his back again, around his kidneys. He heard mumbling behind him, and it dawned on him that she had been speaking to him.

"I would like a response, if you please?" she muttered.

Eldairn paused and considered the route in front of him. The path they were on opened onto another courtyard, where steps led to another courtyard guarded by monstrous statues. Hidden to the side beyond the stone sentinels, a small path led to another balcony. As he was searching for the exit, only his breathing could be heard echoing through the chamber. It was unnerving.

Its voice broke the silence. "I thought you said that the antidote should act immediately?"

"Should," he emphasised. "It was untested on vampires until today." He waited, expecting a torrent of furious words to pour forth.

"Oh, so you're an alchemist, then?" she said, her voice riddled with curiosity.

"No."

"Oh." Decidedly less curious. "So, you're just the errand boy?"

His lips pressed in a thin line. Of course she would dismiss him when he showed no interest in alchemy or magic. He bit back his anger. "I am testing it as a favour for a friend."

"Well, should you wish to test any more," she mused, "Sorry to disappoint, but many things that work on lesser vampires will not work on me."

"Well, that one clearly did," he countered flatly. If only there was a paralysis serum for the tongue, he groaned. He continued up the stairs, stepping onto the landing.

Stone shattered suddenly, sending shrapnel flying as roars burst forth from around them. Blinking away the dust, he retreated a few steps as the stone sentinels advanced. Eldairn slipped the vampire from his shoulder and onto the ground, drawing his two blades as soon as her weight fell from him. Claws came swiping at him, and he ducked quickly. The balustrade next to him shattered as the creatures arm missed him and hit the stone. The thick grey muscled limb was connected to a bulging deformed torso and finally to a head that was horned and grey, with grotesque fangs. It was reminiscent of- He ducked again to avoid another swirl of magic. Reminiscent of vampires.

He jumped out of striking distance and sent the blade through the wrist of the first creature. The limb fell to the floor and shattered. It screeched in fury and reeled, Eldairn diving on its exposed midsection, burying the steel to the hilt. It was only after he impaled the first creature that he realised that killing them turned their flesh to stone that fell into great boulders. He yanked to withdraw his sword only to succeed in having the deadweight topple onto him. Trying to free his pinned legs, Eldairn readied his thu'um as he saw the second gargoyle charge. Just as he inhaled, a sudden arc of electricity flew towards the abomination, crackling and charging the air as it continued its onslaught for another few seconds. Several shards of ice quickly followed, burying deep into the stunned demon. Shimmering vapours curled up like smoke from the projectile. The creature crumbled to pieces before him.

Looking towards the source of the spike, he saw the vampire steadying herself against the railing, another ice spike crystallising in her hand. Her brow cocked like she expected a thank you. He turned away from her and pulled against the stone, finally releasing his legs.

"You're welcome," she muttered, as he rose from the ground and brushed the dust from himself.

Eagerly, she stepped towards the ramp leading to the exit. "Let's move. It'll be good to get outside and breathe again."

Eldairn brushed past to the lead. He could not be out of her presence soon enough. As they cut through the remaining draugr, he watched her use a graceful mix of elemental magic and close combat blades. If it wasn't for his usefulness as a navigator, he was sure she could make it home without him. After all, the most she could come across would be wolves, bears and perhaps the occasional troll. He kept the knowledge of the return of the dragons to himself though. An ancient vampire waking up after a couple of thousand years to find Skyrim infested with the creatures could provide some amusement.

In the final cavernous hall, Eldairn felt a familiar hum move through the floor and circulate through his body. The ancient hallway opened into an enormous amphitheatre, the seats tiered steeply. A furnace lay in the middle of the room, hot enough to send a gust of warm, dry air towards them, even at that distance. It met the stale damp air of the barrow in an uncomfortable swirl that brought sweat out on his brow. It made him pause and wonder who maintained the enormous flames. No one would dare venture inside simply to keep it burning, so there was little else other than the draugr. The thought of the cursed creatures able to do more than simply defend the tomb was unsettling. Even in their undeath, they appeared to continue their ritual sacrifices to the dragons.

Towering in the far corner was a great stone monolith more than three times his height and curved like a crescent moon, with dragon speech etched into its dark surface. The script was topped by ornate ancient carvings from the era of dragons, a dragon's visage glowering down at the space before the wall. Vaguely, he noted Serana moving down into the amphitheatre.

The edges of his vision darkened, and the heavy rhythmic chanting thundered within his head. It enveloped him in a burning warmth that pierced right through his body like a hot iron. The magnetism was palpable, the etchings pulsing with a ghostly light.

He ran his hands along the cool stone, seeing less with his eyes than with his soul. It rumbled and rolled with the voice of a hundred dragons, with ancient power that made his chest heave. Every sinew and muscle in his body swelled with energy, their fibres throbbing to the rapid beat of his heart. The words of the wall sought energy from his enemies. Like a leech it would take their endurance and siphon it to him. Gaan… the voices chanted, growing in volume until it was a roar like the blood thundering in his ears. All at once, his vision returned and he gasped for breath, eyes darting around in the haze that followed learning new dragon speech. It was always an unnatural feeling afterward, where he knew his strength had grown but also that he could have sworn he was a larger man for it.

"Hey!" Eldairn whirled at the shout from behind him. Firing ice spike after ice spike, the vampire had already eliminated the four draugr surrounding the arena. "Some assistance would be nice!"

A hellish scream pierced the air as a dragon priest levitated from its perch, arms spread wide and tattered robes hanging from mummified flesh. The magic's work gave him time and Eldairn sprinted to within striking distance of the demonic figure, vaulting the last steps with an airborne swing.

The undead priest sagged under his first quick strike at its shoulder, before it spun away and hurled a fireball at the man. Eldairn ducked to his right, the heat passing him in a scorching wave. Serana circled around, searching for an opening in the dragon priest's side. Eldairn was making it difficult. With vicious constant strokes of his sword the creature barely blocked, he backed it into a corner. His next stroke caught the creatures legs, just as he ducked another wave of flame.

She sent two ice spikes in quick succession. They flew perilously close to Eldairn's shoulder and into the priest's torso. It faltered. Eldairn sliced his blade into its midsection with an upstroke. It crumbled to ash with a scream.

"Next time warn me when you're going to leave me to fight alone," she muttered.

He sifted through the remains of the priest with the point of his sword, and brushed his hair back from his forehead. "You seemed to be holding your own, even though you're four thousand years old," he breathed. He had a feeling he would struggle with that realisation until he was rid of her. He scanned her briefly. Not a hair out of place. He scowled. Not a single scratch. And he knew for a fact that vampires did bleed.

"I would thank you not to remind me of my age," Serana sighed, conjuring an iridescent ball of light with a brush of her fingers that Eldairn abruptly wrenched his gaze from. "I haven't come to terms with it yet myself."

Wordlessly, Eldairn continued up the steps on the far side of the arena. A sorceress, and a thrice damned vampire! What in the name of the gods had possessed him? His gloved fist tightened around the hilt of his blade. She was an unknown. Ancient. There was no way for him to know how deep her knowledge of magic ran, or the extent of her abilities. If he let his guard down, he could be an easy meal for any vampire, let alone one who was four thousand years old. He glanced over his shoulder to see her looking down intently as they climbed the rough steps, careful of her footing. The Elder Scroll rattled in its case on her back, it's large size making her appear oddly diminutive.

He pulled his eyes forward, fighting the voice that told him to watch her every move. And for every other enemy he would, keeping them in full sight at all times. But with her strange presence that he swore made the skin on the back of his neck crawl, he was struck by a need to put as much distance between them as possible. Distracted, he thumbed the ring in his left hand, the one Farengar had enchanted for him that the court wizard had swore on his position would protect him from enchantments and complex spells. But would it protect him from her?

The tunnel ahead carried fresh air toward him, a scent his beast senses easily distinguished. His acute sense of smell was also the only way he knew the vampiress was still following him. Though she was less than three metres behind him, he could hear nothing.


End file.
